They Seek Him There
by classicdisneyFTW
Summary: AU Modern. Marguerite starts her first day at her new university and soon she hears tell of the school's secret hero, the Scarlet Pimpernel. The man who saves targets of the smuggling operation known as The Republic. Soon, Marguerite gets mixed up in the drama when she is blackmailed into helping a member of the Republic into figuring out who the Scarlet Pimpernel really is.
1. London University

_Hello! This is different from my usual stories (that is, I usually write Disney or Sherlock or __something), but one can always branch out can't they? The Scarlet Pimpernel is actually my absolute favorite book of all times! I can't even express my love for it fully! If for some reason you're reading this and you haven't read the book or seen any film adaption (1982 is my personal favorite, but 1934 is also very good. 1999 was terrible!) I very highly recommend that you do at least one or the other because it's flippin' amazing! _

_Anyways, I had this idea for a modern Scarlet Pimpernel like half a year ago, but I never thought that I'd actually write it down. But here we are. I must forewarn you though, this may not get updated as regularly as my other fics would (though, don't expect like 2 month gaps between chapters or anything). With that said, I hope you enjoy! :)  
_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Marguerite stuffed her last notebook into her back pack and then zipped it up. There was a sudden banging on her bedroom door. "Hurry up or we'll be late! And on your first day too!" her brother's voice called from the opposite side.

"Keep your shirt on!" Marguerite hollered back, slinging her backpack over her shoulder and opening the door, "I'm ready."

Marguerite's older brother, Armand, stood in the doorway his brow furrowed in impatience. "Let's go then," he said, pushing some of his dark hair out of his eyes and turning towards the stairs.

Marguerite followed him down the stairs and towards the car. The open space next to her brother's beat up white pick-up truck signified that their father had already left for work. Marguerite and Armand's parents had divorced five years ago when Marguerite was barely fourteen years old. Armand had been living with their father and Marguerite had been living with their mother for those five years, until just a few months ago. Their mother remarried a man whom Marguerite felt uncomfortable living with. It wasn't that he wasn't nice... in fact he was _too_ nice. He was way too attentive to everything and didn't seem to grasp the concept of privacy and personal space. After only a couple weeks of living with him, Marguerite decided to move out.

Today was Marguerite's first day in her new college. It was her brother's private school. She had decided to transfer colleges when she moved as well.

"Have you got your schedule?" Armand asked as he backed the truck out of the driveway.

"Yep." Marguerite pulled the paper out of her backpack as proof.

"What do you have first?"

Marguerite looked at her schedule. "Introduction to Theatre at 9:00," she replied.

Armand nodded. "I'm guessing you have that in the... Globe Building, right?"

"Right," Marguerite said, checking her schedule again.

They drove on for another twenty minutes before Marguerite spotted a sign reading: _LONDON UNIVERSITY_. "Here's the campus!" Armand announced as though he were a game show host. He turned to his sister wearing a large, toothy grin. "What do you think?"

Marguerite's eyes scanned the spacious campus eagerly. She had heard so much about the place from Armand long before she had even considered moving and was already keen to approve of it. None of Armand's praise had been exaggerated. It was quite simply the most beautiful campus Marguerite had ever laid eyes on. The buildings looked brand new, despite being several decades old; polished and white. The lawn was perfectly cut and a luscious green. The pavement seemed to glitter beneath the sunlight. Even the students walking around seemed to radiate a certain pleasant sort of... something, that Marguerite could not quite place.

"Don't get the wrong impression of this place," Armand warned as he stretched his neck, searching for a parking spot, "It's hardly ever sunny around here. This campus just seems to attract cloud cover." He smirked. "In fact from a distance, it sort of reminds me of those cartoons where the character has a cloud looming over his head, you know?"

He finally found an open parking space and backed into it. "Well, m'lady," he said in mock formality, "Shall we?"

"Indeed, good sir," Marguerite replied in the same tone.

Chuckling, they both got out of the truck. Armand looked at his watch. "Well, we've still got some time before your class starts," he said, "Shall we take a look around?"

Marguerite nodded and followed after her brother. She tried her hardest to remember everything Armand was pointing out to her as they walked. "That building there is the Grenville Gymnasium, we have a lot of dances and festivals and stuff in there. And over there's the cafeteria, but hardly anyone goes there. Everyone goes to this great little restaurant, the Fisherman's Rest that's off campus just beyond the cafeteria. Oh, there's the Globe Building, where most of the drama classes are held, but over here is the Covent Garden Auditorium where plays and presentations are performed..."

"Armand! Armand!"

Marguerite and Armand turned to the sound. A young woman with curly red hair came running towards them. "Laura!" Armand waved at her as she approached.

Ah, Laura. Armand's girlfriend. Marguerite had never actually met her before, but Armand had mentioned her several times before. Laura kissed Armand quickly when she arrived, then turned immediately to Marguerite. "You must be Marguerite!" she said enthusiastically, smiling broadly, "I've heard so much about you!"

She took hold of Marguerite's hand and shook it vigorously, still smiling all the while. "Marguerite St. Just, it's a pleasure! A real pleasure! I'm Laura. Laura Larange. It's so nice to meet you!"

"Thanks," Marguerite said, overwhelmed by the energetic greeting.

Laura finally released her hand. Laura stepped back and looked Marguerite up and down. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Nope," Marguerite replied nonchalantly.

"What?" Laura cried, sounding scandalized, "A gorgeous girl like you without a fella? Well, we'll soon fix that, mark my words!"

"Honestly, I'm not really looking for anyone right now," Marguerite said.

"Oh you say that now, but wait until you meet some of the boys around here," Laura said, "When they take one look at your gorgeous blue eyes, your beautiful dark curls, and your perfect figure, you'll have a line of boys outside your door five miles long begging you for a date."

Marguerite felt her face flush at the compliment, but she shrugged. "Whatever you say, but I'm not on any man-hunt."

Laura didn't seem to hear her. She was too busy looking around the grounds. "You're two years younger than Armand so that makes you 19, right?" she said, "OK, so we're looking for a guy between 19 and... let's say about 22, 23..."

"Really, Laura," Armand laughed, "We can do this later. Marguerite has a class in just a few minutes."

"OK, OK," Laura said, turning back to them. She grabbed Armand's wrist and looked at his watch. "Great Gatsby! My class started ten minutes ago! I'd better go. I'll see you guys later!"

With that, she took off towards one of the large white buildings. Marguerite and Armand watched her until she was out of sight. "Well, I guess I had better get to class then," Marguerite said.

"Yeah, me too. And mine's on the other side of campus," Armand said.

"I'll see you later."

"Yeah. Hey, have fun in drama!"

Marguerite smiled. "You got it."

Marguerite turned on her heel and began to walk towards the building Armand had pointed out to be the Globe Building. There did not seem to be very many other kids walking towards it and Marguerite began to wonder how early she actually was... or how late. Was it normal to see this few amount of students?

She climbed up the glittering steps and walked through the glass double doors into the building. Room 117 was at the very end of the hallway. She took a breath and opened the door.

There were several students inside already, but it was not quite full. Also, when Marguerite looked around, she noticed that there was no teacher inside either. She let the door close behind her and she took a tentative step inside. All the students inside were all engaged in their own conversations in their own little groups. Marguerite looked around. There was a group of three nearby, two girls and a boy, who looked rather friendly and who had a vacant seat near them, so she walked towards them.

"Is this seat taken?" Marguerite asked, gesturing to the open seat.

"No, no!" the blonde girl said, smiling up at Marguerite.

Marguerite smiled back and sat down. The blonde girl shifted so that she was facing Marguerite more directly. "I'm Suzanne. Suzanne Tournay, but you can call me Susie. What's your name?"

"Marguerite St. Just," Marguerite replied.

"Annabelle Tournay. I'm Susie's older sister," the other girl said sticking out her hand. Marguerite shook it. "And this is my boyfriend, Andre Vicomte," she said jerking her head towards the boy at her side.

Andre nodded a greeting and smiled a little. "What's your major then?" he asked.

"Performing arts," Marguerite replied, "I want to be an actress."

"Ooh! Are you any good?" Susie asked.

"That's up for other people to decide," Marguerite said.

"So are you like an exchange student or something?" Susie wondered.

"No," Marguerite said, "I just moved in with my dad and brother and decided to go to school here."

"Oh! So... wait. You're not living in your own apartment?" Susie asked.

"No."

"Not even in the dorms on campus?"

"No actually I'm living at home."

"What?" Susie cried, raising an eyebrow, "Well, that's kinda weird. Don't you want to be on your own?"

"Mm, I guess," Marguerite shrugged, "I think next year I might move into one of the dorms around here."

At that moment the door slammed. Everyone stopped talking abruptly and looked towards the door. A tall, lanky man stood in the doorway, holding a large cardboard box. His outfit was what really threw Marguerite. He wore bright orange plaid pants, a green polo shirt, white sneakers, an ankle length brown over coat, a small round pair of purple sunglasses, and crammed over his voluminous black hair was a straw hat. Marguerite blinked several times, trying to get used to this strange new phenomenon that had just entered the room.

"Good morning everyone!" he declared loudly. He spoke with a heavy lisp.

Some of the students mumbled their good mornings.

"Now tut tut and tsk tsk!" the colorful man frowned, "Let's try that again! Good morning, everyone!"

"Good morning, Professor Regent," the students said in chorus.

"There now!" the professor grinned. He bounded to the front of the classroom, "It is a good morning, isn't it?"

He began to rummage through the box. Marguerite watched him closely. He seemed to be a strange mix between a circus ringmaster and the Mad Hatter. "Don't mind this old box," Professor Regent said, emerging from the box momentarily, "This is for next class. Ah-ha!"

He pulled a plastic crown out of the box. He quickly removed his straw hat and placed the crown on his head. "He loves pretending he's a prince," Susie whispered to Marguerite, "No, not a king. A prince. He's very specific. It's his favorite character to play."

"There now, I'm all set. Let's begin," Professor Regent said, rubbing his hands together, "I'm assuming everyone wrote their outlines for their skits?"

There was a rummaging of backpacks and papers as the class began pulling out whatever homework Professor Regent had assigned. Susie, Annabelle, and Andre each pulled out their own papers, but Marguerite didn't move.

Professor Regent looked over the class and clapped his hands together in delight. "Wonderful!" he cried, "Everyone get in a circle and we will begin sharing our ideas then."

Immediately everyone stood up and began rearranging their chairs into a large and rather sloppy circle. But it was a circle none the less and it seemed to satisfy Professor Regent who sat on top of his desk, swinging his legs in anticipation. "Good, good, good," he grinned, "Excellent! Now, who shall go first?"

No one moved. Marguerite looked around. Everyone was avoiding eye contact with Professor Regent. Most people resorted to twiddling their thumbs, reading over their papers, twirling their hair, one boy with dread locks was braiding three of them together idily. Marguerite forced back a snort. If she had a paper herself, she would have raised her hand by now. "Come now!" Professor Regent cried, "There must be somebody willing to share!"

Just then the door opened.


	2. Blakeney

_I'm back! And sooner than expected too. Thank you so much for the reviews, I appreciate them so much! :)_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Everyone turned to look at the sudden, loud entrance. A tall boy wearing dark sunglasses stood in the door way. Marguerite looked closely at him. There was something strangely familiar about him. He was definitely well-off judging by the designer clothing he was wearing and the smell of the extremely expensive cologne (which Marguerite recognized from a perfume store she often visited) that suddenly filled the classroom. His short, light brown hair was perfectly styled, his jaw had a perfect defined shape, and his complexion was flawless. Marguerite could not see his eyes because of the sunglasses, but she was sure that she had seen this boy before. But where?

"Late again, Blakeney?" Professor Regent asked.

Marguerite's head snapped back to her professor. Had she just heard him correctly?

"Fashionably, sir," came the response, "Had the hardest time finding my favorite jacket today. I had Jerkins tearing the house apart-"

"Jerkins?" Professor Regent interrupted.

"The butler. Anyways, all was not lost. We found the jacket. See?" He displayed the jacket he was wearing proudly.

"I see. It's a good thing it was something as serious as that," Professor Regent cracked an amused smile, "Well, Blakeney. You did your assignment, I assume?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, would you mind being the first to share?"

Marguerite slouched in her seat as the newcomer moved a chair into the circle and pulled a paper out of his bag. Susie seemed to notice Marguerite's sudden discomfort. "Marguerite?" she whispered, "Are you alright?"

"Blakeney?" Marguerite asked.

"Yeah," Susie sighed, "Isn't he dreamy?"

"That... that's Percy Blakeney," Marguerite stammered quietly.

"Oh, Percy? Is that his name?" Susie asked.

"Well no. It's Percival, but I always called him Percy and so did his mom- wait, how do you not know his name?"

"Well everyone calls him by his last name, Blakeney, but most people shorten it down to Blake," Susie replied simply.

"Blake?"

"Yeah."

Marguerite raised an eyebrow and looked over at Percy or "Blake" who had removed his sunglasses and was beginning to read off his paper.

How much he had changed since she had last seen him. He had grown at least a foot, he had managed to tame his thick wild hair, his face had cleared up, he had lost all traces of baby fat, but there was something else different. Marguerite watched him closely as he read his paper.

"...so then after that I was thinking that James, you know the main guy..." Blake was saying.

"Character," Professor Regent corrected.

"Right. So James and Rachel have been dating for a long time. A really long time. And basically Rachel just leaves James without even a proper goodbye."

"What do you mean by that?" Professor Regent asked, "What happens?"

"I haven't worked out the details yet," Blake said, "You only asked for a brief outline."

"OK. Please continue."

"So Rachel leaves James without a proper goodbye. Just sort of dumps him on his own. Breaks his heart, you know? So she goes off never to be seen again and James tries to move on with his life where he is, but just can't."

The room fell silent. Everyone stared at Blake expecting more. "Is that it?" Professor Regent asked.

"Yeah," Blake said without a care in the world.

Everyone looked around, confused. "Right!" Professor Regent shouted, clapping his hands together, making everyone jump, "A tragic ending! Very good! Who's next?"

Marguerite still stared at Blake, trying to put her finger on what exactly made him so different from the last time she had seen him. There was something about his mouth when he spoke that was different. It sort of... hung open, as if it were too lazy to really stay in place properly. Also when he spoke, he almost drawled. That was so different from before. The last she saw him, he always seemed so sharp.

"So how do you know him?" Susie asked leaning closer to Marguerite, "I thought you just moved here."

Marguerite took her eyes from Blake and looked at Susie. "I'll tell you later. It's sort of a long story."

Nobody would volunteer to read their outlines for their skits so Professor Regent had everyone share by going around the circle. Nearly an hour passed by the time it got to Marguerite. Professor Regent raised his eyebrows at the sight of her. "I don't believe I've seen you in here before, my dear," he said.

"No. I'm new," Marguerite said, glancing at Blake out of the corner of her eye. He appeared to be dozing in his seat, his chin resting on his chest.

"Oh!" Professor Regent's face brightened, "New student! I love new students What was your name?"

"Marguerite St. Just."

Marguerite saw Blake's head snap up. Marguerite remained still and continued. "I just moved here. Should I have come to you at the beginning of class?"

"No, no, my dear!" Professor Regent waved his hand, "It's quite alright. The only problem here is that you don't have an outline nor a group to perform your skits with once you've completed them either."

Marguerite waited patiently while Professor Regent tapped his chin thoughtfully for a moment. "See me after class for a moment and we'll work something out," he said.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XX

Marguerite was surprised to find Susie waiting for her outside Professor Regent's room. "Who's group did you get put in?" she asked eagerly.

Marguerite looked at the paper Professor Regent had just given her. "Group 3."

"Hey that's my group!" Susie declared happily.

Marguerite looked at the list of names. Sure enough: _Foulkes, Dewhurst, S. Tournay, Batz, Hastings, A. Tournay, Blakeney, Jellyband._

"Blakeney," Marguerite mumbled, reading the name again.

"What?" Susie asked.

Marguerite pointed at the name on the paper.

"So what is up with you and him?" Susie wondered, "I saw how he reacted when he heard your name."

Marguerite sighed. "What's your next class?"

"Math, but that's not for another fifteen minutes," Susie said, "And I know you haven't got another class until after 12:00. I saw your schedule in class. So who's Blake?"

"I used to live here," Marguerite said, "Five years ago my parents got a divorce and I moved away with my mom. But you know, I went to middle school and high school here."

"And you knew Blake?" Susie asked.

"Well..."

"Hey, Marguerite!"

Marguerite turned towards her brother's voice. Sudden frustration bubbled up inside her as he approached her, Laura clinging to his arm. He beamed at her and Susie. "I didn't expect to see you before lunch," he said happily, "How was your first class?"

Marguerite scowled at her brother. "Armand, why didn't you tell me Percy Blakeney went to school here?"

Armand's face dropped. "Oh. I... didn't think of it."

"You didn't think to mention that my ex-boyfriend would be here at the same college as me?" Marguerite demanded.

"_Ex-boyfriend_?" Susie repeated in shock, "You mean to say you _dated_ that piece of sexy-pie?"

"Yeah," Marguerite brushed Susie's comment aside, keeping her eyes on Armand.

"Wait, isn't Percy Blakeney that rich guy who lives in that big house on the other side of town?" Laura asked.

"Yeah that's him," Armand answered.

"Ahhh," Laura gave Marguerite a significant look, "Pretty boy, eh?"

"Tell me about it," Susie said.

"So, what's the story then?" Laura asked, "You dated him and...?"

"And we broke up. Plain and simple," Marguerite stated.

"But you said it was a long story," Susie said.

"Well I exaggerated. How many people say 'it's a long story' when it's really not?" Marguerite asked, "Look, it's really nothing. I was just surprised to see him here. I mean, wouldn't you? Seeing your ex after five years?"

"Well, I hope you're right," Susie said, "Because you're going to be spending a lot of time with him now that you're in the same group in drama class."

Marguerite sighed. "Yeah I know."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


	3. The Scarlet Pimpernel

_Phew! I'm back! This chapter was surprisingly easy to write. Although I should warn you that it's mostly an explanatory chapter, but it's important for the rest of the story._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Marguerite sunk into a chair in the Fisherman's Rest and sighed. Susie plopped down next to her. "Did you get your outline finished?"

"No not yet," Marguerite groaned as she pulled her paper out of her backpack, "I was up all night trying to come up with an idea." She groaned again. "It's been a week since I was given this assignment and I haven't come up with a thing!"

She showed Susie her paper covered in scribbles. Susie patted her arm sympathetically. "Don't worry, Marguerite. Regent gave you two weeks. I'm sure you'll think of something by then."

"I hope so," Marguerite said, leaning on her elbows.

"Hey! Hey, everybody!"

Marguerite and Susie turned and saw a dark-skinned boy with dread locks, Tony Dewhurst, burst into the room waving a newspaper over his head. Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to look at him.

"You will not believe this!" Tony cried, slapping the newspaper on a table, "It's happened again! There's been another one!"

The restaurant suddenly burst into an uproar of murmuring. Several of the students rushed forward to look at the paper. Others were talking quickly with one another. Marguerite looked around, baffled.

"What is it? What's happened?" she asked Susie.

"You don't know?" Annabelle's voice sounded from behind.

"Who was it, Tony?" the waitress, Sally Jellyband, asked form the other side of the room.

"Someone named Frank Boulier," Tony said, looking at the paper, "'Well-known taxman, Frank Boulier reported missing by his landlady Mrs. Petunia Wallace. Mrs. Wallace entered Mr. Boulier's apartment this Sunday morning to collect his monthly rent only to find it empty."

Marguerite looked confused. "Well how do they know he is missing?" she asked, "Maybe he just went out."

Susie held up a hand, staring intently at Tony as he continued to read the article. "'Mrs. Wallace did not think it was unusual that Mr. Boulier was not in his apartment except that he had not locked his door. Mrs. Wallace reports: "I saw that the door was unlocked and ajar. I thought it was rather strange so I went inside looking for Frank. As soon as I was inside, that's when I saw it. The giant red flower painted on his wall with graffiti paint." The police have visited Mr. Boulier's apartment and run tests over the paint. Mr. Boulier was reported to have been an open protestor against the illegal smuggling operation known as The Republic Operation. The police have not confirmed anything, but because of Mr. Boulier's standing with the Republic Operation and the symbol painted on his wall, many speculate that it is the same painter as before. That elusive rescuer who remains anonymous to the public. He who is only known by his trademark painting, the Scarlet Pimpernel.'"

The restaurant broke into chatter again. Marguerite frowned in confusion. She looked at Susie. "Still confused," she said.

"The Scarlet Pimpernel. You've never heard of him?" Susie asked, surprised.

Marguerite shook her head. "No. That's why I'm asking."

"Huh. I thought news of him would've have been extended beyond our town," Susie said, "Well, you heard Tony. He rescues people."

"Yeah, but I don't really understand that. Rescue from what? How does he do it? Who is he?"

"No one knows who he is," Susie explained, "That's why it's so brilliant! Even the police are baffled. There's no finger prints or anything."

Marguerite gave her friend a skeptical look. "What does he do?"

"That's right, you're new around here," came a new voice. It was a blonde, well-built boy, Andrew Foulkes. He hopped over the table and sat in between Marguerite and Susie.

"Oh, hi, Andrew," Susie said coyly, twirling a strand of her hair awkwardly.

Andrew winked at her in greeting then turned to Marguerite. "You see, there's this guy and his group of friends, colleagues, or whatever. And they save people that are targeted by that group mentioned in the article, the Republic Operation. They figure out who's in danger and they get them to safety before any of the Republic members can get to them and... well, you know..." Andrew swiped his finger across her neck like a knife.

"Anyways," Andrew continued, "This guy and his gang rescue people and always leave a sign behind. A red, star-shaped flower called a Scarlet Pimpernel. He also signs his notes and stuff with that flower too, so no one knows who he is."

Marguerite raised an eyebrow as she absorbed this information. "What is the Republic Operation exactly?" she asked.

"It's this sort of smuggling operation," Andrew explained, "They smuggle all sorts of stuff. Drugs, jewels, ancient rarities, immigrants, you name it. They're a world-wide operation. But one of their main centers is located somewhere around here."

"Here, as in the school?" Marguerite asked, shocked.

"Maybe," Andrew shrugged, "Or in the city, or in the slums, or in the suburbs. No one really knows for sure except for the members of the Republic. They are a nasty bunch though. You don't want to get involved with any of them, because once you do, you never really leave."

"Why, what happens?" Susie asked, leaning closer to him.

"Well, as far as I know, the members are given a tattoo," Andrew said, "Just three blue stripes on one of their elbows. That tattoo brands them for life. Once they learn the secrets of the Republic, the republic does not allow them to leave."

"Sort of like the Mafia?" Marguerite concluded.

"Exactly," Andrew nodded.

"Why was this Frank guy in danger? Was he an ex-member of the Republic or something?" Marguerite asked.

"No," Andrew replied, "It said that he was outspoken against it. That was an understatement though. I read the news everyday and there's been lots of stuff on Frank Boulier. He's been fighting hard to help uncover some of the Republic's plots. I guess the Republic felt he was getting too close and felt it was time to..." Andrew made the swipe with his finger again.

"And the Scarlet Pimpernel and his gang save these people," Marguerite stated, "But how does he know who's in danger?"

Andrew shrugged. "That's something you would have to ask him."

"What the devil is going on in here? I came in here for a peaceful meal and come in to a madhouse."

Marguerite recognized that drawling voice and slowly turned her eyes up to Blake. As usual, he had sunglasses on and wore a perfect set of designer clothing. "Blakeney!" Andrew cried, "Did you see the paper? The Scarlet Pimpernel struck again!"

"The Scarlet Pimpernel? Well that's just dandy," he said sarcastically, "But why is everyone acting like wild animals?"

"It's the _Scarlet Pimpernel,_ Blake!" Susie declared, "Everyone's bound to get excited over it."

"Mmm," Blake hummed. He suddenly looked down at his feet. "Tell me, Andrew. What do you think of the new trainers? Jerkins said the red would accent the outfit better, but I chose the black."

"Yeah. I completely agree with you," Andrew nodded, "In fact, I was going to ask you, on behalf of Tim, would you suggest wearing blue jeans with a sports jacket?"

"Hmm," Blake said, tapping his chin, "That would depend on the sports jacket. I would have to see what type Tim meant before I had a say."

Marguerite could hardly believe what she was hearing. "So how long have you been so interested in fashion, Blake?"

"Several years now," he answered lightly, "Hasn't anyone told you? I'm majoring in fashion design. Top in all my classes."

He looked down at her. Marguerite wished she could see his eyes and tell what he was feeling. She prided herself on being skilled on reading people's emotions through their eyes, but alas he was wearing sunglasses and was therefore, unreadable.

"Well, I am starved!" Blake declared, "Where is Sally? I need some food."

"See you later," Andrew grinned at them. Marguerite observed that his eyes lingered a bit longer on Susie than anyone else, then he hopped over the table and followed after Blake.

"Ugh, they're all fashionistas," Annabelle said, watching Blake, Andrew, Tony, and another boy, Tim, sit at a table.

"But they're so dreamy," Susie said in a daze, staring at the table with her mouth half open.

"_All_ of them?" Marguerite prompted.

"Yeah," Susie nodded, still staring at the table.

Marguerite held back a smirk. "What about... Andrew?" she asked, "He's pretty nice, right? Cute too."

Susie suddenly snapped out of it and blushed furiously. "Yeah, he is I guess," she said quickly, "Where's the menu? I'm starving!"

Marguerite and Annabelle exchanged knowing glances, but decided not to press the subject further.

"Hey, girls!" It was Andre. Behind him was a tall, rather skinny boy whom Marguerite recognized from her english class and a shorter boy with black bristly hair whom Marguerite knew from her drama class, Darren Batz.

"Hi, Andre," Annabelle chirped up.

"You all know Mark Cyr, right?" Andre said, gesturing to the skinny boy.

"Yes, I think I've met all of you before," Mark said before any of the girls could speak, "I was just hanging out with Andre and Darren while they were working on something for drama and they asked me to come to lunch with them."

"Oh yeah, that's right," Annabelle said turning to Andre, "Did you two manage to work out your little partnership script?"

"Yeah," Andre said proudly, "I think Professor Regent might actually be quite proud of us."

"But will he approve is the question," Marguerite said, "He specifically said that we each should have our own ideas to begin with and _then_ we could start combining if we so desired."

"He'll love it," Mark said confidently. He suddenly started looking around the restaurant. "So what's going on in here anyways? Why's it so noisy? I mean it's always noisy, but not this much."

Susie reached over the table and snatched up the newspaper that Tony had brought in. "Hey!" the kid who had been looking at it protested.

"Hold your horses! You'll get it back in a minute!" Susie snapped. She handed the paper to Mark, "See for yourself."

Mark looked over the paper for a moment. "He's done it again! That rascal!" he cried, handing the paper back to the irritated kid at the other table, "So that Boulier guy was targeted by the Republic then?"

"Apparently," Annabelle said.

Mark gave a low whistle. "You got to admire that Pimpernel guy for trying, but he's not doing much to help, is he?"

"What in the world are you talking about?" Susie asked sounding a bit affronted.

"I mean he's not really doing anything to stop the Republic," Mark said.

"He's stopping them from killing people, I'd call that something," Marguerite pointed out.

"Well yeah, but look at the big picture," Mark explained, "The Republic is a big operation. They damage businesses all over the world. Museums, shops, factories have all been shut down because of them. What's the Scarlet Pimpernel doing to stop them? Nothing."

"Well at least he's trying," Susie said, defending her hero, "I mean, I don't see you doing anything."

"Oh, aren't I?" Mark asked slyly.

"Get out of town!" Andre cried, "You're not serious."

"Says who?" Mark asked.

Everyone stared at Mark, dumbfounded, unsure whether they should believe him or not. "Look," Mark said lowering his voice, "All I'm saying is that once the police get wind of what I found out, by next week half the Republic Operation will be shut down."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_I'm going back to school next week so I don't know how that will be effecting my updates at all, but reviews are always helpful for a faster update! :)_


	4. An Old Friend

_And now comes Chauvelin. Yes, I have taken the liberty of changing his first name (like lots of movie versions do) to Paul just to avoid confusion with Armand St. Just._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I honestly don't know why the school even bothers to have a cafeteria," Marguerite said as she and her friends exited the Fisherman's Rest, "The food here is fantastic!"

The group of people around her, Susie, Annabelle, Andre, Darren, and Mark all agreed. "So what are you going to do now?" Susie asked.

"Oh I don't know," Marguerite said, with a shrug, "I'm supposed to meet Armand back here in about an hour so he can take me home. I guess I'll go to the library and try to work on my skit outline."

"OK, we'll see you later then," Susie grinned.

"Right," Marguerite said. She waved at her friends as they walked off, laughing and chattering amongst each other.

Marguerite shifted the weight of her backpack a bit as she began to make her way up a hill towards the library. It wasn't too far from the Fisherman's Rest, but she still felt the urge to hurry along the white sidewalk. She reached the large chalk-white building in no time and entered swiftly.

Scanning the rows of wooden tables packed full with students typing away on their laptops, noses pressed deep into a text book, or writing away in notebooks, Marguerite found that there was not an open seat to be found amongst the work tables.

With a disgruntled "humph" she turned to go upstairs to the computer labs. Once upstairs, she found an open cubicle and sat down at the desk at the computer. She pulled out her skit outline and stared at it. _What to do? What to do?_

For nearly an hour, she just couldn't seem to come up with a half-decent idea at all. There was nothing. Who should the characters be? Where should it take place? Should there be a romance? Adventure? Tragedy? _Argh!_ Marguerite put her face in her hands in exasperation and sighed.

"Marguerite St. Just?" a voice spoke up from behind her.

Startled, Marguerite spun around to face the owner of the voice. A black-haired boy, who looked rather short for his age, with a long nose and small, piercing dark eyes stood directly behind her. His bony, white fingers were clenched together in front of him and his thin mouth was twisted into a smile. But Marguerite recognized him.

"Paul? Paul Chauvelin!" she cried as loudly as she dared in the library, "My word, it's been years!"

"Hasn't it though?" Paul agreed, nodding, "It must be six years, at least. I don't think I've seen you since middle school graduation."

"Yeah. I think you're right," Marguerite said.

"How've you been?" he inquired.

"Great. Really great," Marguerite replied, "You?"

"Oh you know, same old same old."

"How long have you been going to this school?" Marguerite wondered. Surely she would have run into her old friend by now or Armand would have mentioned him if he went here for long.

"I don't actually go here," Paul informed her simply, "I'm a foreign exchange student from France."

"France?" Marguerite repeated, completely bewildered. Since when did Paul live in France?

"You know that my Uncle Rob lives in France, right? Well, I went to live with him during high school," Paul explained, "I _am_ technically a French citizen since I was born there."

Marguerite nodded. She did know that much information about him, but she had no idea that he had moved to France. "Why did you move in with your uncle?" Marguerite wondered.

Paul gave a half shrug. "I was ready for a change from my parents' lifestyle, mostly."

"I see," Marguerite nodded. She glanced the clock on the wall. "Oh!" she gasped, "I'm supposed to meet Armand on the other side of campus in ten minutes!"

"Oh here, I'll walk with you," Paul offered, "I've got nothing to do for another half hour."

Marguerite smiled and stuffed her notebook back into her bag. Then she and her old friend walked out of the library side-by-side merrily. They didn't say anything to each other for several moments as they walked, which Marguerite didn't really mind. She liked quiet thinking time to herself. Eventually, however, Paul broke the silence.

"So I've only been here a week," he said, "And I'm just wondering, what is this "Scarlet Pimpernel" that everyone's talking about?"

Marguerite shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know much about him, myself," she admitted, "I guess he saves people who are targeted by this sort of mafia-like smuggling operation called the Republic Operation. He's kind of like a superhero, you know? With a secret identity and all. Nobody knows who he is."

Paul nodded, taking in this information with great interest. "What kind of people are targeted?"

"I don't know. People that speak out against them or are trying to shut them down, I think. At least that's what I heard," Marguerite said.

"Have you met anybody like that?"

Marguerite furrowed her eyebrows and looked at her short friend beside her. "Why are you wondering?"

"I'm just curious," Paul said defensively, raising his hands innocently, "Nothing nearly this interesting happens over in France. I mean a secret hero? Come on, that's _cool_!"

"Yeah, my friend is infatuated with him," Marguerite said, "Or rather, she's in love with the idea of a masked hero."

"So what does this Scarlet Pimpernel do, exactly?" Paul asked.

"I told you, I don't really know," Marguerite said, "He rescues people from this smuggling operation. I don't know how he does it or anything."

"But why are people targeted at all?" Paul asked.

"I guess if they're of any threat to the smuggling operation," Marguerite said, "My friends and I were talking about it earlier. Like, this guy, Mark Cyr, he didn't think that the Scarlet Pimpernel was doing enough to help."

"Really? Did he say what he thought would be better?"

"Actually, he said that he knew some stuff about the Republic that could shut down their operation for good," Marguerite replied. She snorted. "I don't believe him though. I mean, how could one college student know something like that?"

Paul chuckled along with her. "Well you'd actually be surprised sometimes what little things could bring down an entire operation," he said as-a-matter-of-factly.

Marguerite raised an eyebrow as they continued walking. Paul grinned up at her, "But enough about that, how's your brother doing these days?"

Marguerite's skepticism disappeared and she proceeded to talk about Armand, her new school life, etc. until they finally reached the parking lot at the other end of the the campus. Armand was parked, waiting already.

"I guess I'll see you around," Marguerite said.

"Oh here, let me give you my number," Paul said, "That way if you ever need me, you can contact me."

Marguerite pulled out her phone and handed it to Paul. He quickly tapped in a few digits and handed it back to her. "OK, I'll see you later," he said.

Marguerite waved as he walked away and then hopped into the old pick-up with Armand. As they drove off, Armand turned to Marguerite. "Why did that kid look familiar?"

"I went to middle school with him," Marguerite said, "We were friends."

"Ohhhh! Wasn't he that weirdo kid with the ponytail?"

"He wasn't _that_ weird."

"Maggs, he ate pudding with a fork."

"Yeah, OK, that was a little weird."

Armand smirked. "I see he lost the ponytail though. So what's he doing here?"

"He's a foreign exchange student from France," Marguerite told him.

Armand slammed on the brakes, nearly rear-ending the car in front of them. He looked at Marguerite once more. "Did you say that _he_ is from France?" he asked tersely.

Completely bewildered by her brother's sudden uneasy mood, Marguerite nodded. "Yes. But what does that matter?" she asked in confusion.

Armand stared at her a moment longer, but then his eyes softened and he relaxed. "Nothing," he said, looking back at the road, "Nothing at all."


	5. Murder at the University

_Argh! This chapter was impossibly hard to write! I'm sorry if it sucks, but no matter what I did to it, I couldn't make it better, so bear with me._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Holy crap! Holy crap! Geez! Everybody! Everybody! Have you seen the news?"

Everyone in Professor Regent's classroom turned to see Andre Vicomte running in, waving a newspaper over his head. He sprinted inside and slapped the paper down on one of the desks, eyes wide with shock.

"What is it, Andre?" Annabelle asked, resting her chin on his shoulder, trying to get a look at the paper's headline.

"One of our own students, from this very school, was _murdered_ last night," Andre declared.

"What? Who?" Susie cried loudly, stumbling forward to get a look at the paper

The other students in the classroom began crowding around the suddenly hysterical group to see what all the fuss was about and a general ruckus broke out amongst them.

"Who was murdered, Vicomte?" one of the students asked Andre.

"Do the police know why?" another asked.

"Was it the Republic?"

"Don't be stupid! Why would the Republic target a college student?"

"Well you never know!"

A hand suddenly grabbed the newspaper out from in front of Andre. Blakeney pushed his sunglasses up on top of his perfectly crofted hair and his eyes skimmed the headline briefly. "Mark Cyr," he announced to the class.

"Does it say who did it, Blake?" someone asked.

Blake sat down on a chair and propped his feet up on a table. "The Republic."

The class buzzed with newfound chatter at this revelation.

"How did it happen?"

"Why him?"

"How did they find out?"

"Mark wouldn't hurt a fly!"

It was in the middle of this ruckus that Marguerite suddenly entered the classroom, and she was taken aback by the almost panic-stricken chattering going on. "What's going on?" she asked no one in particular.

"The Republic _murdered_ a college student from _this_ _very school_ last night!" Andre told her over the noise.

"What?" Marguerite cried, "Why would they do that? Who was it?"

But Andre didn't get a chance to answer because at that moment, Professor Regent suddenly entered the room in his usual colorful garb. He clapped his hands, "Attention, please!" he called over the noise.

The students did not appear to hear him. He straightened his 'Joseph and the Amazing Technicolored Dream Coat'-esque coat and climbed up onto a chair. He pulled a small pink, plastic trumpet from his pocket, placed his lips to it and let out a loud piercing blast.

The room immediately fell silent and turned to look at him, surprised. "Thank you," he said, stepping down from the chair, "Now, if you will all please take your seats."

Each of the students followed his instructions and quickly found their seats. Professor Regent stuck the horn back into his pocket and made his way up to the front of his class, hands clasped behind his back. He seemed a bit less energetic than usual and much more somber. The students' eyes followed him as he moved to the front.

He turned to face them. "As you may know, one of our school's students was grievously taken from us last night," he said. The class acknowledged that they did know. "A tragedy indeed," Professor Regent continued, "To be murdered in your own home by that vicious band of thieves, the dastardly Republic Operation."

The class mumbled in agreement.

"There will be a memorial service for Mark Cyr in the Grenville Gym this afternoon at 4:00," Professor Regent said.

Marguerite held back a gasp. Mark Cyr? But why would the Republic want to kill him? Surely he hadn't done anything that had disrupted- "_Once the police get wind of what I found out, by next week half the Republic Operation will be shut down."_ She suddenly felt her stomach drop. Oh Mark, he should have been more careful. How had the Republic found out?

Somebody must have said something. It was the only way the Republic could have found out. But who could have done such a thing? The only people that Marguerite knew that knew about Mark's secret were Annabelle, Andre, Susie, Darren, and herself. Surely none of them would have done it! And _she_ definitely hadn't told any-

Wait.

Paul. She had told Paul. But, no. Surely not. He couldn't, he wouldn't! They were friends. He wouldn't have told her information to any member of the Republic... would he?

"It must have been a traitorous villain indeed whomever ratted him out!" Professor Regent declared.

Marguerite suddenly felt very sick. She slid down in her chair and felt the blood drain from her face. Susie looked at her with concern. "Marguerite, are you alright?" she asked.

"I... I did it," Marguerite mumbled.

"What was that?" Susie asked.

"It was me. I ratted out Mark," Marguerite choked out.

"You what?" Annabelle nearly cried out turning towards her.

"I need some air," Marguerite said, grabbing her backpack and stumbling for the door.

Once outside, her eyes darted back and forth about the glittering white campus. Where would Paul be at this time? She began to hurry in one direction, with no idea where she was going. She didn't know what Paul's schedule was like. He could be in a class for all she knew.

Wait! He had given her his phone number.

She whipped her phone out of her pocket and quickly scrolled through her contacts until she found it. _Chauvelin, Paul_. She pressed the send button and waited impatiently as she listened to it ring on the other end.

"Hello?" Paul's voice finally answered.

"Paul! Paul, I need to talk to you right away!" Marguerite said urgently.

"Well say it now, by all means," Paul said, "You're talking to me now, aren't you?"

"No, in person," Marguerite said firmly, trying to keep the franticness from her voice, "Where are you?"

"I'm just outside the library."

"Stay there. I'm coming to you!" Marguerite ended the call without another word, stuffed the phone back in her pocket, and took off in a half-run towards the library.

Once she reached the building, it didn't take her long to locate Paul. He wasn't hard to spot. He stood, leaning casually against one of the pearly white pillars, his all black attire standing out against the glittering white. She approached him.

"What's the matter?" he asked, as soon as she reached his side, "You sounded pretty desperate on the phone."

As Marguerite looked at the stout, black-clad boy staring up at her, she suddenly realized how perfectly ridiculous her theory was. How could he, a college student, her old middle school friend, have possibly told a member of the Republic about Mark? It was completely absurd! She almost wanted to laugh at herself. Had she really run out of her class for this?

"You said you had to talk to me," Paul pressed, "What is it?"

Marguerite began to relax a bit and shook her head. "It's nothing," she said, "Forget it. Sorry I bothered you."

"No really, you sounded pretty freaked," Paul said, "Just tell me."

"No. I just thought... but it's nothing. You'll laugh when you realize how stupid I am," Marguerite said.

Paul cocked an eyebrow. "Well, you have to tell me now."

Marguerite shook her head again. "I... well. Don't be offended, but you heard about the murder of Mark Cyr, a student from here, right?"

Paul nodded. "It's all over the place."

"Yeah well, remember how I told you yesterday how he knew some stuff that would bring the Republic down?"

Paul nodded again.

Marguerite laughed nervously. "Well, I actually thought for a moment that you had somehow found a member of the Republic and reported him." She began to laugh again. "Completely ridiculous of me, right?"

Paul made no answer. He just gave her a half smile, an amused glint in his dark eyes.

Marguerite stopped laughing. "What?"

"If _I _didn't report him, then who did?" he asked.

Marguerite furrowed her brow and frowned at him. "I... I don't know," she said. Paul raised his eyebrows. Marguerite's frown deepened, "What are you trying to say?"

Again, Paul did not answer her question. He suddenly leaned closer to her. "Marguerite, I need your help with something."

Although taken aback by the sudden change of subject, Marguerite nodded. "What do you need?"

Paul cleared his throat as though trying to come up with the precise words to say. "I need your help finding someone," he said.

"Who?" Marguerite asked, furrowing her brow.

"Ah, now that's just the question," Paul answered.

Marguerite rolled her eyes. "Spare me your cryptic speeches, Paul, and just tell me what you need."

"I need your help in finding out the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel," Paul said simply.

Marguerite just about choked on her own gulp of air. "You what?" she coughed.

"You need me to say it again?" Paul asked cooly, "I need your help in finding out the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel."

Marguerite just stared at him, flabbergasted. Why would he want to know that? There were only two reasons that she could think of. 1) Because of pure excessive curiosity or 2) Because... but no.

"Paul," she said slowly, "You only want to know because you're curious, right? You don't want to turn him in to a member of the Republic, do you?"

Paul smirked. "Turn him in?" he repeated. He began to roll up his sleeve. "Marguerite, I don't need to turn him in to any member."

He pulled his sleeve above his elbow and displayed the bare skin. Marguerite saw three thick stripes tattooed across his elbow in blue. Her eyes widened and a hand flew to her mouth. "You're a- you're a-" she stammered.

"Yes. Agent Chauvelin, at your service," Paul said plainly, rolling down his sleeve once again, "And I need your help in finding the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel."

"Why would you need help?" Marguerite asked, "Why can't you do it yourself if you're a member?"

"You are the center of social life up here," Paul explained, "I've seen how much you do stuff and how many friends you have."

"No! No, I won't do it!" Marguerite said, firmly. She was still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that Paul was even a member of that awful band. "You are terrible people. I wouldn't be caught dead helping you! In fact, I should turn you in right now!"

She turned her back on him, prepared to stalk off, but his voice made her freeze in her tracks. "You can do that if you want," he said, "But may I remind you what happened to Mark when he tried to report his information to the authorities?"


	6. French Class With Blake

_I am so sorry for taking so long to update, but school's been getting kind of hectic and I've been suffering a bit of writer's block. So I appreciate your patience. Also, thank you so much for the reviews, guys! They really mean a lot and honestly do motivate me to write faster. 3_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I hear she did it herself."

"Of course she didn't, stupid! She planned the whole thing and sent someone else to do it."

"Well I think she just turned him in."

"Don't be an idiot! Don't you know she carries a knife with her at all times, just waiting for her next victim?"

"I'm surprised she has the gall the even show her face around here anymore."

"It's because she wants to pick us all off one by one."

Marguerite ignored the thousands of eyes following her as she headed towards her next class. She was used to it by now. It had been going on for nearly two weeks now. Somehow, word had gotten out about her hand in Mark's murder, but not the whole story and it was _very_ skewed. She had long since given up trying to set it straight. It's next to impossible to completely squash a rumor, especially one as juicy as this one.

Practically everyone avoided her on campus, each for different reasons. Some people were afraid that she was going to thrust a butcher's knife into their chest at any moment, others were just plain angry about what she had done to poor Mark, and some were both. Because of this, she had become a certified loner. Annabelle was probably the angriest out of everybody and forbade Susie from going anywhere near "the traitorous murderer". However, Susie still sometimes managed to come to her without Annabelle's detection.

Susie was one of the few people that Marguerite knew of that didn't believe that she had murdered Mark. The other was Armand. It wasn't that she had related the full story to either of them. (She would never tell anyone about Paul, for fear of what might happen to her if she did.) Both of them approached her and expressed their confidence that they didn't believe she was a murderer. "I know you too well," Armand had said. And Susie was just so trusting, she could never believe _anyone_ was a murderer unless it was laid out right in front of her.

Marguerite turned her collar up against the light rain that pattered down on her auburn curls and hurried along towards her Advanced French class. The professor hardly noticed her entrance as he scribbled on the white board with a marker up at the front.

She began her search for a vacant seat. As she headed for an empty one, the person sitting beside it saw her coming and hurriedly placed their bag in the seat. Pursing her lips, Marguerite backed away and headed for another empty spot. The person beside that spot quickly placed their bag in that spot. The same thing happened again and again as she tried for other spots.

This would happen every day in every class. Marguerite frowned and looked around. Eventually, there would be some brave soul who would allow her to sit next to them or just someone who she could catch off guard and manage to sit beside when they weren't looking. She scanned the class for such a person.

There was only one remaining open seat in the far back corner... and guess who it was beside. Percy Blakeney appeared to be dozing with his chin resting on his fist and his elbow propped up on the desk. It seemed a perfect opportunity. He wouldn't be able to stop her if he were sleeping.

She headed in his direction and quickly sat down as stealthy as possible. He didn't move. Marguerite relaxed slightly and began to pull her notebook, textbook, pencils, etc. out of her bag. Blake still didn't stir.

Eventually, the professor began the class. Marguerite glanced at Blake and saw that he still continued to doze contentedly beside her. She wondered if she should wake him so that he would not miss the lecture. After a moment of debating with herself, she finally gave him a sharp prod in the shoulder.

His head snapped up, his blue eyes suddenly wide open. He looked around in confusion for a moment before his eyes fell on Marguerite at his side. The confusion slowly began to fade away and he flashed her one of his typical idiotic grins.

"Oh, hi," he mumbled quietly, "Have you always been in this class?"

Marguerite kept herself from rolling her eyes. She had sat near him on more than one occasion, surely he had noticed her before now. But she didn't say any of this to him and just gave him a nod. "Yes," she replied with an equally quiet voice.

Blake stared at her for a moment longer before looking back to the front. As the lecture droned on, Marguerite couldn't keep herself from glancing at Blake every once in a while. What did he think about Mark's murder? Did he think she was involved? He must. There was no reason why he wouldn't. He was constantly surrounded by the rumors and he was almost unbearably stupid. He must believe them.

For some reason, Marguerite felt the urge to set this straight with him. She had not felt this urge with anyone else in the school since she had long since given up on the subject and her reputation. So what was this feeling stirring inside her with Blake? Why was he different?

She knew she probably could set him straight. After all, they were once so close. He had practically worshipped the ground she walked on. Even if he didn't anymore, he might still listen to her. But... no, they had hardly spoken for years. They had gone their separate ways. He was a rich, popular, half-witted fashonista and she was a branded murderess.

She tried to ignore her inner turmoil. And she managed to for most of the class, but it was distracting her. She could hardly focus on what the professor was saying. Finally it was time for partner discussions. Naturally, Marguerite and Blake were partners. Marguerite decided to take advantage of the loud, chattering to ask Blake what he thought about Mark's murder. However, he took her by surprise and asked her first.

"So, about Mark..." he began.

Marguerite turned her full attention to him, anxiously. He wasn't looking at her, but staring straight ahead.

"There have been many stories going around about him," Blake continued, "Most of them involving you."

Marguerite didn't answer and simply waited for him to continue. He gave a small crooked smile, as though he were thinking about something. "You know, back in high school, I never..." he paused and swallowed, "I never would have pictured you as an informer."

Marguerite tightened her lips. At least he didn't think she was the one who actually stuck the knife in his back.

Blake slowly turned to look at her. "Did you? Did you turn in Mark?"

In that moment, Marguerite suddenly felt all resolution to set him straight drain out of her. She could see it in his eyes that he was dead-set against her. He firmly believed that she had turned in Mark with a dark intent, that she honestly wanted to help the Republic. How could he? He probably knew her better than anyone, other than Armand.

Marguerite stiffed, trying to force the gutted feeling she felt down. She swallowed hard. "Yes," she replied simply, stone-faced.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_I know, this was kind of a shorter one. Sorry. More's on the way!_


	7. Blackmail

_I took a bit of dialogue from the movies and tweaked it, you may recognize._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Marguerite could not figure out why the fact that Percy Blakeney thought that she had betrayed Mark Cyr cut her so deep. Of all the people who were pointing fingers at her, he was the only one that she cared about. Why?

The two of them proceeded with their exercises and only spoke the required French for the remainder of class. It was tormenting Marguerite to be sitting beside him for so long with such a wall now built up in between them.

At last, the professor excused the class. Marguerite hastily stuffed her supplies into her backpack as fast as possible. She threw Blake a hurt frown before turning to head out the door.

She had a little time to kill before her next class, so she began to stroll towards the theater. Professor Regent had said that the school would be putting on an opera in a couple months. Not that Marguerite wanted to audition for the opera, she didn't have a strong enough voice for that kind of singing. Besides, it was too late for auditions anyway. She just wanted to go see if she could watch rehearsals, if they were going on.

As she walked, she suddenly became aware of someone behind her. She glanced back and found Percy Blakeney strutting along just a few paces behind her. Puzzled, Marguerite turned away from him and kept moving. He probably just had a class in the same direction or something. However, he continued to trail her until she was almost to the theater.

Finally, at the bottom of the white steps of the theater, Marguerite stopped and turned to face him. "Are you following me?" she asked, trying to keep the annoyance out of her tone.

Blake peered over the top of his sunglasses at her for a moment before pushing them back into place. "You left your text book," he said, holding a book out towards her.

Marguerite looked down at the book in his hands. It was, indeed, her French book. "Thank you," she said, taking it from him. She looked up into his face. "Why didn't you give it to me back at the classroom?"

"Marguerite!"

Marguerite and Blake both turned to see Paul Chauvelin headed in their direction. He stopped at Marguerite's side and observed her and Blake together. "Am I interrupting something?"

Marguerite realized how close she was standing to Blake and quickly took a step back. "No, no," she said, "Um, Blake, this is Paul Chauvelin. He's a French foreign exchange student. And Paul, this is Percy Blakeney. He was just returning my book to me." She held up the text book for emphasis.

Paul and Blake stared at each other for a moment, Blake simply wearing a slight dopey smile and Paul seeming to be trying to process the extreme trendy sight in front of him. Finally, Paul stuck out his hand and said, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Blake grasped his hand and shook it vigorously, grinning all the while. "Yes, yes. Very good to meet you as well."

Paul nodded and withdrew his hand after Blake would not release it on his own. "Marvelously clever lot, you French people. All of you!" Blake said, "How you manage to speak that unspeakable language just blows me away."

"You're too kind," Paul replied, obviously holding back a smirk.

"No, no, I mean it," Blake said, "Everyday in French class I just simply cannot grasp those ridiculous pronunciations and letters and... whatever. You are by far the best and cleverest race in the world. Mind you..." He began to look Paul up and down. "I can't say the same about your clothes."

"Clothes?" Paul repeated, looking down at what he was wearing.

"Mm-hmm," Blake said with a nod, tapping his chin thoughtfully.

"What's wrong with them?"

"'What's wrong with them?'! Oh, my poor misguided Frenchie. _Everything_ is wrong!" Blake cried out, removing his glasses, "The color, the shape of that coat, those shoes with that belt, the way you've wrapped your scarf about yourself! I could go on."

Marguerite had wondered at the beginning of the conversation if she could perhaps slip away, but she found herself rather amused with Blake's criticism of Paul and wondered what other remarks he would throw in his direction so decided to stay.

"Now if you'd like some help with fixing your wardrobe, I can provide some for you," Blake continued, "But let me tell you, it really isn't easy to keep up an appearance. It takes all my brains."

"I can believe that," Paul said dryly.

"Yes," Blake said, smiling, not catching on to Paul's meaning, "Now I'll only give you one piece of advice for now, but should you like some more, I'm not hard to find."

Paul raised an eyebrow as he eyeballed the very trendy clothing of Blake's. "I'm sure you're not."

"See, your scarf shouldn't be just tossed over your neck like that." Blake reached out and removed the scarf from Paul's neck. "It should go around once like this, so the two ends come around to the front, so the front goes to the back. Otherwise the back would be in the front which isn't right at all. The front should be in the back-"

"What in the world are you talking about?" Paul interrupted.

"Confusing, I know. Like I said, it takes brains. I know you'll get it eventually, you're a Frenchie. And Frenchies are so clever."

"Quite," Paul said with what looked like a forced smile, "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to talk to Marguerite."

"Of course," Blake replied, "I'll be off. And Monsieur Chauvelin, if you ever need any advice..."

"Yes, I remember," Paul said.

Blake smiled and slipping his shades back on, he turned on his heel and walked away.

As soon as Blake was out of sight, Marguerite turned slowly towards Paul. "What do you want?" she asked coldly.

The corners of Paul's mouth tweaked upwards slightly. "Only a word," he replied, "What's with the tone?"

Marguerite crossed her arms. "Don't give me that. You know exactly what. You ruined my life."

"Me?" Paul asked, pointing a finger to his chest, exaggerating a look of surprise. Then he chuckled, annoying Marguerite. He began to look around. "Erm, where were you headed before that moron stopped you?"

Marguerite frowned at him. "I was going to watch the opera rehearsals, if they were going on."

"Very well. I'll join you and we can talk in there."

Marguerite was not pleased with this prospect, but nevertheless she and Paul walked side-by-side into the theater. Marguerite knew exactly where the auditorium in which the opera practices would be held and quickly headed in its direction.

They found the auditorium in no time and the sound of rich melodic voices reached their ears. They cautiously entered the very large and expansive auditorium and saw the cast on stage singing their lungs out. Marguerite recognized one of the lead singers. It was Laura, Armand's girlfriend. She didn't know that she could sing, especially with such power.

Marguerite and Paul found seats at the very back of the auditorium. The performers' voices were considerably quieter, so there was no way that they would be able to hear them if they talked.

"What do you want?" Marguerite asked again, "I have little patience for you after what you did to me."

Paul smirked. "Don't worry, this shouldn't take very long. I only have a favor to ask."

Marguerite almost laughed at that. "What makes you think that I would grant you a favor after you implicated me with your disgusting little Republic Operation and have completely destroyed my life?"

"After you hear what I have to say, I think you might be more keen."

Marguerite frowned, but she didn't speak. Paul took the opportunity to continue.

"I trust you know who the Scarlet Pimpernel is?"

Again, Marguerite nearly laughed. "Of course I have! People around here hardly ever talk about anything else. Anytime that man strikes a move, it's the talk of the town for at least a week."

"So then you know that he's an enemy to the Republic?"

"I would assume so."

"Well, it may interest you to know that recently, my people have uncovered a piece of evidence which reveals that man to be a student or a staff member from _this very school_."

Marguerite started. "What?"

"It's true," Paul said. He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. "I hacked into a student's email and discovered this message signed with 'SP'."

Marguerite took the paper and opened it. It was from Andrew Foulkes's email. The message was short, only informing Andrew that the sender would be at the Grenville Dance in two weeks. It was indeed signed with 'SP'.

"Couldn't you just trace back the email address?" Marguerite asked.

"We tried, but the address had been deleted," Paul replied bitterly.

"So what do you need me for?"

A grin crept onto Paul's face. "I need your help in finding out who the Scarlet Pimpernel is."

This time, Marguerite did laugh. "You've got to be joking. How on earth would I find out who he is?"

"You've gone to this school longer than I have," Paul replied, "You have more classes than I have, you know people better than I do. You have more friends than me..."

"Just a moment," Marguerite interrupted, "You want me to spy? That's what you're saying."

"Spy is kind of a harsh word," Paul said, "You'd just be keeping your eyes open and reporting any suspicious activity to me."

"So spying?" Marguerite said plainly.

"Oh, I suppose if you must be so blunt about it. Yes."

Marguerite scoffed. "What makes you think that I would help- Why on earth would I- I mean did you honestly believe that I would-" she sputtered incredulously.

"Is that a no, then?" Paul asked.

"Most definitely!"

"Alright," Paul said casually, "Then I suppose you'd rather your brother died in his place?"

Marguerite froze. "Armand? What are you talking about?"

Paul slowly pulled another piece of folded paper from his pocket. "He's been conspiring with the Scarlet Pimpernel."

Marguerite stared wide-eyed at the second piece of paper. "That-that's ridiculous. He wouldn't."

"You wanna bet?" Paul asked, waving the paper in front of her face, "This was also in Foulkes's email, from your brother. He asked Foulkes to tell the Pimpernel that he had seen the French foreign exchange student and that his suspicions are probably right about him being a member of the Republic."

Paul unfolded the paper and showed it to Marguerite. "This, here, is undeniable proof of your brother's interference in the Republic's activities. And I'm going to use it against him... unless you choose to cooperate, of course."

Marguerite's face hardened and she swallowed as she looked at the message. "Now you're... _blackmailing_ me?"

"You can call it that if you'd like, but it's not about to guilt me into changing my proposition."

Marguerite didn't move, didn't respond. What could she do? How could she seriously help kill a good, heroic man? But then how could she give the word to kill her own brother? Maybe she could warn Armand, tell him to get away! Or maybe she could tell the police and they could give him some sort of protection.

"And don't even think about trying to warn your brother," Paul interrupted her train of thought, "If you so much as speak of this to _anyone_, I promise that your brother will die."

Marguerite closed her eyes and exhaled deeply. She opened her eyes and finally made her decision. "If I agree to help you... will you give me that message?"

"As soon as I know the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel, this paper is yours."


	8. The Grenville Dance

_OK, phew! I'm finally back. School's been crazy lately and it's been hard to get around to this story. But I honestly appreciate all your support through reviews and such. They really do mean a lot to me and do help._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Oh, Marguerite, I just can't decide between them!"

"Well you're going to have to pick one. I don't think you'll be able to wear ten dresses at a time. Nor do I think you'll be able to afford them all."

"I know, but I want the perfect one for the dance on Saturday."

"Best get busy finding one in your pile then."

Susie sighed and she pulled her head back behind the door of the dressing room once again. Marguerite sat on a stool just outside, waiting patiently. She had picked out her own dress over a half hour ago and now had to endure Susie's endless indecisiveness. She didn't mind so much though. Anything to get her mind off the task at hand.

It had been almost two weeks since Paul had shown her Armand's email and she had not had any luck in discovering a single thing about the Scarlet Pimpernel since then. She wondered how long Paul would wait before turning in Armand. He had sent her a text that morning telling her that the dance on Saturday would be the perfect opportunity to keep an eye on the suspects at hand.

Saturday was the university's 80th anniversary and it was being celebrated with a formal dance in the Grenville Gym. It was going to be a _very_ formal event. The flyers and posters that were plastered all over campus almost made it seem like it would be like a ball.

Marguerite ran her fingers over the gown laid own over her lap. Navy blue, floor-length, single strap, embroidered with glitter. Shame she would have only her very few friends to appreciate it because considering her standing with everybody, she knew she would not get a date. She probably wouldn't even have considered going had Paul not insisted upon it.

She sighed and leaned her head back against the wall behind her. She suddenly found herself wondering about Blake. Had he asked anybody? He probably will if he hadn't already. He liked to keep up an image and having a date was certainly the "in" thing. Who would he ask, was the question.

Marguerite frowned and mentally kicked herself. She seemed to be thinking about him a lot lately. And whenever she did, her stomach sort of flip-flopped and then it felt like there was a pit in the very middle. What was her deal? What did she care who he went to the dance with? No matter what she did, he always seemed to pop up into her thoughts. Why?

Sure they were close once, back in high school. They once had lots of fun, trusted each other with their deepest secrets, spent all their time together, but that was years ago. That was over. Being around him again couldn't be bringing that back. She was over it. She _knew_ that! ...Right?

"OK, I think I've made up my mind," Susie's voice came from inside the dressing stall.

Marguerite broke out of her thoughts. "And?" she prompted.

"I'm going with the pink one with the yellow bow."

"Good. That was my favorite," Marguerite said with a small smile, "Now come on, let's buy these and go to lunch. I'm starving."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Fisherman's Rest seemed to be more busy than usual, but Marguerite and Susie still managed to get a table. They had not been sitting long, when there was a loud shout from behind them.

"Hey! Fancy meeting you two here!"

The two girls turned to find Laura Larange, Armand's girlfriend, standing behind them, grinning widely.

"Oh hi, Laura," Marguerite greeted her.

"Mind if I sit?" Laura asked, pointing to the empty seat at their table.

When they said they didn't, Laura immediately plopped down. "Well, what are you two up to then?"

"We were just dress shopping," Susie replied.

"Ooh! Fun! Did you get some totally awesome dresses?"

Susie nodded with a smile. "Are you and Armand going to the dance?"

Laura shook her head. "No. He's actually taking me on a date into town. It's a surprise. He won't tell me squat!" She turned to Marguerite. "Come on, Marguerite. You've got to know something. Can't you tell me a little somethin', somethin'?"

Marguerite shrugged. "All I know is that you two have to give me a ride to the dance before you leave since my dad's leaving on a business trip."

At that moment, Sally arrived with their food. She set the plates down in front of their prospective owners and promptly walked away. Marguerite immediately dug into her salad. After a moment, she noticed that Susie was just staring wide-eyed at her sandwich.

"Susie?" Marguerite asked.

Susie just pointed at her sandwich. Marguerite and Laura leaned over and looked. A small piece of paper sat propped against the dish. On it were written in large, neat letters: "SUSIE, WILL YOU GO TO THE DANCE WITH ME?"

Before anyone could respond, there was a sudden tap on Susie's shoulder. She snapped her head up, and standing before them was Andrew Foulkes, holding a bouquet of flowers out and smiling rather sheepishly.

"So..." he said, "Would you be my date?"

Marguerite and Laura stared at Susie in anticipation. A wide grin spread over Susie's face and she jumped up, throwing her arms around Andrew's neck. "Of course!" she squealed, "Of course!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Marguerite took a deep breath as Armand's truck drove off, leaving her standing alone in the Grenville parking lot. She stared up at the gym for a moment before making her way towards it. Tonight was the night. She was determined to find out something about the Scarlet Pimpernel.

When she approached the entrance to the gym, her bag was searched before she could pass through the doorway. The interior of the gym was decorated so extravagantly that one would hardly recognize it as a gym. One half was set up as a dance floor, while the other half was set up as a dining area. The entire place was decorated with curtains, sashes, ribbons, lights, candles, flowers. And as the posters and flyers had advertised, there were indeed ice sculptures.

Marguerite saw herself being waved down from one of the tables. It was Susie and Andrew. She couldn't help a small smile at Andrew's yellow shirt and pink tie matching with Susie's dress as she walked over.

"Well, don't you two look adorable," she remarked sitting at an empty seat.

Andrew grinned while Susie gave a more shy smile. "Thanks. And you look fantastic," Andrew said.

Marguerite smiled her thanks.

"Susie!" a voice sounded from behind.

Everyone turned. Annabelle stood with her hands on her hips, frowning. Andre stood at her side, looking anywhere, but at their table. Annabelle strode toward the table.

"Susie, just what do you think you're doing, talking to _her_?" She jabbed her finger towards Marguerite.

"I..." Susie seemed lost for words, "She's..."

"Suzanne Tournay, I specifically forbade you from ever talking to this girl unless absolutely unavoidable."

"But..." Susie stammered. She looked to Andrew for some support.

Andrew seemed at a loss for words as well. He looked back and forth from Annabelle to Marguerite, trying desperately to come up with a way to ease the situation.

"She betrayed Mark. She's never denied it!" Annabelle's raves now seemed directed at Marguerite, "She's a traitor and a crook!"

Marguerite had sat passively throughout Annabelle's entire verbal rampage, but now she could not hold back any longer. She stood up and leaned over the table, her eyes fixed firmly on Annabelle's.

"I will not confirm or deny that I turned in Mark," she said through clenched teeth, "But who are you to judge me?"

Annabelle and Marguerite glowered at each other for a long moment before Andrew cut in between them with false eagerness. "Oh look at that! They have sparkling punch! Annabelle, Susie, why don't we go get some punch, eh? Yeah, punch, that'd be good."

With that he ushered both the ladies away, Andre shuffling along behind them. Marguerite bit her lip and sat back down at the now empty table. She began to fiddle with one of the forks, thinking about what had just happened.

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by loud laughter from a nearby table. She would recognize that idiotic laugh anywhere. She turned her focus towards it. There she saw Blake sitting at a table, surrounded by a number of girls. Curious about this arrangement, Marguerite scooted her chair a little closer so that she could hear what was being said.

"Come on, Blake. You promised you'd share as soon as you were finished," one of the girls said.

"Yeah," another said, "You can't disappoint us now!"

"Now, now, girls," Blake replied with a crooked grin, "I can't be sure that you won't hate it. Therefore, I'll have to keep it to myself."

All the girls groaned in disappointment.

Blake chuckled. "Well... if you girls really, _really_ want it..."

All the girls said that they did.

"Oh alright." The girls cheered. "This is my assignment my english class, so tell me what you think," he cleared his throat, "The Scarlet Pimpernel, a poem by Percival Blakeney. They seek him here/ They seek him there/ Those Frenchies seek him everywhere/ Is he in heaven?/ Or is he in hell?/ That damned elusive Pimpernel."

The girls exploded into applause.

"Blake, that was probably the best poem I've ever heard!"

"You'll get an A for sure!"

"How did you come up with it?"

Blake smiled proudly. "It's rather strange, actually. I came up with it during the busiest time of day, when I was choosing my outfit for the day."

Marguerite snorted.

"There I was, staring at my rack of clothing and it suddenly just came to me. A moment of brilliance, really," Blake continued, "It's quite good, isn't it?"

"Why did you choose the French specifically? Aren't the Republic a world-wide operation?"

"I believe so," Blake replied, "Another moment of brilliance from yours truly. As I was writing it, I had a moment of realization... 'The Republic Operation' did not fit in that particular spot in the poem."

The girls murmured in agreement as though that were shocking news to them.

"So, naturally I had to come up with something else to go there. What better than 'Frenchies'?"

The girls murmured in agreement again. Marguerite raised an eyebrow.

The music suddenly began to play and couples started flocking to the dance floor. Blake put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. "You girls had better get back to your dates before they come looking for you."

The girls sighed in disappointment, but obeyed and strode off in different directions. Marguerite watched to see which one would stay behind in order to determine which one was Blake's date. However, much to her surprise every one of the girls left the table, leaving Blake alone. Had he... come stag?

That was unexpected. She thought for sure he would have had a date. He was a handsome enough guy, even if he was a little dim. OK, more than a little, but he was good-looking, popular, and his dull wit made him somewhat entertaining and pretty funny.

Ahh! There she was again, thinking about him! There was that pit in her stomach. What was wrong with her? She shook her head and turned away from him. She had to focus on the task at hand. Finding information about the Scarlet Pimpernel.


	9. The Text Message

_I'm alive! I didn't die by some horrible plague or fall into a black hole or anything. I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to update! It's just that the last few months of my semester were SO overwhelmingly busy that I didn't have time to write whatsoever. And then it was Christmas. Not a free moment when you're with family. But now I'm back, hopefully to my normal update schedule now that school's over._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Marguerite drummed her fingers against the table top. Where to start? The DJ announced a "special song for all you young lovers out there" and a slow song began to play. Marguerite watched as couples began to flock onto the dance floor and slowly start to sway to the melody. Her eyes fell on Andrew and Susie, arms wrapped tenderly around each other.

There was suddenly a tap on her shoulder. Startled, she turned and came face to face with Paul Chauvelin, attired in a smart, entirely black tux. With a small smirk, he held out his hand, "Would you do me the honor, mademoiselle?"

Marguerite slowly took his outstretched hand, glancing uncertainly from side to side as she did, and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor.

She had always been slightly taller than him, but now in her magnificently high heels, she almost seemed to tower over him. However, that didn't stop him from pulling her ear close to his mouth as they swayed.

"How's the investigation coming along?" he asked.

Marguerite swallowed. "I'm working on it."

""Working on it"?" Paul repeated, "That doesn't sound like much."

"It's harder than it seems!"

"So in other words, you have nothing for me?"

Marguerite pursed her lips. "No," she replied after a moment's pause.

Paul let out a low tutting sound. "My dear, Marguerite," he whispered into her ear, "You do realize what is at stake here? The magnitude of it? Your poor dear brother's life is in jeopardy and you procrastinate your investigation." He tutted again. "Poor Armand. To die because his sister would not do this one tiny, simple task for an old friend."

Marguerite felt like smacking the little french boy across the face, but held her composure and merely continued to sway along with him. "For your information, I came to this dance with the very intent of finding out more information on the Scarlet Pimpernel by _your_ request," she hissed, "I was just trying to think of how to go about it."

"Excellent," Paul said with a grin that looked more like a smirk, "Might I suggest tailing one of his followers?"

"His followers?"

"Yes. Andrew Foulkes, Tim Hastings, Tony Dewhurst. You know the lot. They're all connected to him _somehow_, and yet I still have to determine exactly how."

"How do you know that they're actually associated with the Pimpernel and not just obsessive fans or something?"

Paul raised an eyebrow. "Do I need to show you my elbow again?"

Marguerite sighed. "OK, OK. I'll do it."

"Foulkes might be your best choice out the group as your brother's email was sent to him."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Marguerite kept her eyes fixed on Andrew and Susie from her seat in the corner. Tim was not in attendance and Tony seemed to be sleeping or unconscious at one of the tables so Andrew was her only prospective suspect that had been on Paul's list.

For nearly three hours now, she had watched Andrew and Susie making googly eyes at each other, feed each other some chocolate covered strawberries, dance several songs at a not-so-descent distance, giggling with their heads pressed together, and all other manner of mushy stuff.

Marguerite sighed. This was going no where. Andrew never left Susie's side! It seemed like he was genuinely at the dance for a pleasant evening and not to secretly communicate with the Scarlet Pimpernel like Paul suspected. At this rate, it didn't look like anything was going to happen.

Still, she kept her eyes focused on the chattering couple several tables away from her. They seemed to be in deep conversation about something. Or rather Susie was speaking and Andrew was watching her earnestly. Wait a moment. He seemed to be watching... her lips. Oh dear, he wanted to kiss her.

Now very interested, Marguerite leaned over the table on her elbows and watched. What would be his next move? Susie seemed oblivious to his desire as she prattled on. Would he send her a sign? Would he just go for it? Would he hold back and do nothing at all, letting his feelings eat away at him? (She rather hoped the last one wouldn't be the case.)

From what she knew of Andrew, he was rather gentlemanly, so she figured that he would probably hold out for as long as possible until he was certain she wanted to kiss him too. That meant he'd probably give some sort of sign first to see how she'd react. Marguerite stared at the chattering girl and her captivated man to see if she was right.

Marguerite couldn't help a small self-satisfied smile as Andrew reached out and took Susie's hand, surprising her slightly that she stopped talking and had to look into his eyes. He smiled at her and rested his other hand on her cheek. She didn't protest, in fact although her eyes were wide, she gave him a small smile herself. A good sign, indeed. Satisfied with this, he began to draw her face closer to his. Marguerite leaned over the table in anticipation. It was like watching a romantic film. Their faces were just inches away when suddenly, Andrew froze.

Confused and a bit disappointed, though probably not nearly as much as Susie, Marguerite watched as Andrew pulled back and pulled his phone out of his pocket. His face became suddenly very serious as he looked at the device. He said a few words to a rather disheartened-looking Susie, most likely a hasty apology or something, quickly got up from the table and exited the gym.

Marguerite pondered the scene she had just witnessed. Andrew, gentleman that he was, did not seem like one of those guys who paid more attention to his phone than to his date. Especially when he seemed to really like her the way Andrew liked Susie. He was just about to kiss her for crying out loud! The message he had just received must have been extremely urgent and/or important for him to just abandoned Susie like that, especially when he was just about to lay one on her. What if... it had something to do with the Scarlet Pimpernel? This was the first time he had left Susie all night.

Marguerite stood up and followed Andrew's path out of the gym. It was entirely possible that whatever message he had received was just a family emergency or something and had nothing to do with the Scarlet Pimpernel, but it didn't hurt to check. That's what investigating was, after all.

She peered out the door before actually exiting. She spotted Andrew with his back to her, staring at his phone. Obviously a text message. But how was she supposed to get a look at it?

_Come on, Marguerite. You're an actress. Top of all your classes. Just improvise. You can come up with something._

Marguerite thought for a moment, then got an idea. She pinched her cheeks a few times so that they turned red then allowed herself to hyperventilate a bit so that she began panting. She pushed the gym door open and walked outside, exhaling loudly as she did so.

Andrew turned around at the sudden noise and she saw him quickly stuff his phone into his pocket when he saw her. "My! I have never been so hot in my life!" Marguerite declared, fanning herself.

She strolled over to his side. "Is that why you're out here? It is so dreadfully stuffy in there and I'm in a sleeveless dress. Look at you in your long sleeves and coat. You must be _dying_ in there!"

Andrew, obviously a bit flustered by her sudden appearance, managed a smile. "Yes, I suppose it is a bit warm in there, isn't it?"

""A bit"? Really, Andrew, it's more than a bit. It's like a sauna in there!" She continued to fan herself. There was a short silence between them as Andrew recovered from her suddenly appearing and Marguerite pondered exactly how to go about the next part of her plan.

"Oh Andrew, can I borrow your phone?" Marguerite asked, "I left mine at home and I really need to make a call."

Andrew's smile seemed to fall off his face. "My... phone?" he repeated, "It's inside. I'd have to go get it. Why don't you ask someone else?"

Ah-ha! He was hiding something. That message was not a family emergency or anything of the sort. This was something different. Marguerite gave a small laugh. "Don't be silly, Andrew. I saw you put it in your pocket just now when I came out."

Andrew tensed slightly for a moment, but he reached into his pocket and pulled it out. "Oh yeah," he said, obviously forcing a laugh, "I was just... I forgot I put it there."

He seemed to be internally reprimanding himself for such a lousy excuse, but Marguerite pretended not to notice and smiled. "That's alright. I do that all the time," she said, "May I borrow it for just a moment then?"

Andrew stared at the phone uncertainly for a second, but smiled and handed it over to Marguerite. "Thank you," Marguerite said, "Also, could you be an absolute gem and get me a glass of punch? I am completely parched."

The smile dropped off Andrew's face again. Marguerite smiled sweetly at him. "Please? Did I mention it was totally and completely scorching in there? I need to replenish myself, but I also need to make this phone call. Help a friend out?"

Andrew nodded. He eyed the phone as he slowly turned to reenter the gym to retrieve her punch. As soon as the door shut, Marguerite opened the phone and immediately opened his text messages box.

For a moment, she considered that she was probably breaking some law. This was technically reading someone's mail, wasn't it? But she was saving Armand's life. A small crime of reading someone's messages or her brother's life on her head? She'd take the messages.

She opened the most recently received message: "_Meet me in the parking lot at 1:00_". She looked to see who the sender was. It was from someone called "SP".


	10. The Parking Lot

Marguerite quickly dialed her house and let it ring out until the answering machine came on and then hung up, so as to leave a trace that she did what she said she would. No sooner had she shut off the phone did Andrew appear behind her again holding a glass of punch.

She smiled and exchanged the phone for the punch. "Thank you so much, Andrew," she said. She sipped the punch and expected Andrew to reenter the gym after she did so. However, he continued to stand beside her and watch her as if expecting her to topple over at any moment. Marguerite had to get to Paul somehow, but couldn't with Andrew watching her like that. Besides, she remembered poor Susie left without her kiss.

"Ahh, that is much better!" she declared, "Thank you, Andrew. You know, I've really taken up so much of your time already. You should get back in there."

Andrew eyed her uncertainly. Marguerite raised her eyebrows at him. "Now I know for a fact that there will be someone missing you in there. She shouldn't be left alone for long or else she might think you're not interested... that is, if you _are_ interested?"

"Of course!" Andrew blushed furiously at his outburst and suddenly looked at his feet. "I- that is- well-"

Marguerite smiled and used her hand to force him to look up at her once more. "Susie's a very lucky girl," she said, "Now get back in there."

Andrew returned the smile slightly before turning and disappearing into the gym again.

Marguerite waited a couple minutes before following him. Once inside, she immediately scanned the crowd of students for Paul. He was not too hard to spot in the midst of colors with his all-black attire. He was standing against the far wall near a towering ice sculpture of what appeared to be a ballerina, eyeing the dancing couples closely as though any of them had something to hide (which to be fair, any of them _could _have).

Marguerite slowly and nonchalantly strolled in his direction and soon came round on the opposite side of the ice sculpture. She peered round and caught his eye briefly before pulling back. He seemed to catch her drift and immediately headed in her direction.

He stood on the other side of the ice. "What did you find out?" he asked softly.

"I managed to read Andrew's latest text message from tonight," Marguerite reported.

"And?"

"It didn't say much. Just: "Meet me in the parking lot at 1:00"."

"What was the number?"

"I didn't get to see the actual number, but I did see the name it was under."

Paul turned and looked anxiously in her direction.

"It was "SP"."

Paul's face lit up in excitement. "SP?" he repeated, "As in... Scarlet Pimpernel?" He grinned maliciously. "And you say this text was sent tonight?"

"Yes," Marguerite said.

"Excellent. The Scarlet Pimpernel will be in the parking lot at 1:00. And I will be there to meet him."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Paul left Marguerite by the ice sculpture with her thoughts. It was already 15 minutes to 1:00 so he decided he might as well go outside early and wait for the Scarlet Pimpernel to make an appearance. Maybe he was even out there already.

Paul pushed open the gym doors and headed out of the stuffy environment into the cool crisp air of the night. He had never liked dances or parties in the first place and this one was just to the extreme with its extravagant decorations, loud music, fancy foods, and over-the-top... well everything. He'd only come with hopes of getting closer to catching the Scarlet Pimpernel and now finally seemed like the time.

He began walking towards the car-filled parking lot. The Grenville one was a large one, the Scarlet Pimpernel could be anywhere in it.

Paul frowned. He would have to find him though. He had only transferred to this school because the Republic had ordered him to. His uncle had stressed how much of an honor it was to be given such a mission as this, to go undercover to search for such an enemy as the Pimpernel.

When Paul finally reached the edge of the parking lot, he looked out at the sea of cars and bit his lip. What was the best way to go about this?

Off-hand, he didn't see anybody just standing in the parking lot, but there could be people in the cars, so Paul decided he was going to weave in between the cars and look inside, whilst simultaneously keeping an eye out for anybody passing by.

The first several cars that he passed were empty and dark. One of them had oversized hot pink fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror, but other than that there was nothing out of the ordinary about any of them.

Then he reached a dark green car with zebra seat covers. There was a student sitting in front of it with his legs sprawled out in front of him and his chin sagged into his chest. Unsure of the boy's condition, Paul sidestepped him. The student's head suddenly snapped up.

"Fourdays..." he slurred.

Paul did not recognize the student, but he could clearly see that he was drunk... as well as smell it.

"Fourdaysago she... broke up with me," the student continued, "She should be feelin' it cuz I'm- I'm feelin' it HARD!" He patted his heart clumsily.

Paul just nodded and attempted to continue on his way.

"WHYWOULDSHEDOIT?" the student called, "I'm five times better than mostoftheguys 'round here!"

Paul continued on his way, listening to the drunk whine about how he had to come to the dance alone tonight because his girlfriend broke up with him until he was finally out of earshot.

He came across a large truck that looked like a taco bus. Who had come to a formal dance in _that_? He moved on. For several more cars, he came across nothing.

Then he approached a long silver sports car. Very sleek, very shiny, probably _very_ expensive. When he looked inside, he was not surprised to see Blakeney in the driver's seat, chair reclined, mouth hanging open slightly and snoozing away. He _would_ own the most expensive car in the lot. And of course the idiot would be pooped by midnight and just had to take a nap before driving home.

Paul moved on. He saw some movement in a blue car ahead. He moved towards it to investigate. What was going on over there? It could be what he was waiting for. He got closer and looked through the window and- oh sweet baby Moses!

Paul quickly moved away from the couple in the car, nose wrinkled. Scowling, he marched on, peering into cars as he passed them.

For a while longer, there was nothing of interest. He did eventually come across a broken window with the shattered glass littering the ground and seats. Apparently someone's car had been very recently broken into. However, that did not matter to Paul, so he moved on.

Finally, he reached the end of the parking lot. He turned and looked back at the gym, bitterly. The entire time, he had not come across a single thing of importance, nor had anybody entered or exited the gym. He glanced at his watch. It was now 1:08.

Paul sighed in frustration and began to head back to the gym.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_I'm sorry this was short and not all that interesting, but it was entirely necessary. I promise that the next chapter will be MUCH more engaging ;)_


	11. Too Much

_I believe this is a new record for the fastest update EVER on this fic! Well, I've been looking forward to writing this chapter for months now and I knew exactly what I wanted to do with it, so that equals fast update. So hopefully it turned out OK. _

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Marguerite did not know what to do with herself while she waited for Paul. She sat at a table, but found she couldn't hold still for very long so she soon got up and went and got herself a glass of punch. After downing the punch, she leaned against the refreshments table and watched the dancers for a minute. Then she walked around to the other side of the table and picked up a cupcake. She swallowed at least three or four cupcakes before crossing to the other side of the gym where she resorted to pacing. It was now 1:15. Where was Paul?

The deal was that only if the Scarlet Pimpernel was caught would Armand be free to go about his life. So whatever Paul was finding outside at that very moment was determining Armand's future safety. But how could she do this to such a selfless man as the Scarlet Pimpernel? All for her brother. She just had to save Armand. He was all she had!

Marguerite looked to the main doors and saw Paul. Her stomach flipped. What had he found in the parking lot?

She saw him head over to the chair he had previously been sitting in and pick up his jacket and phone. Then he immediately began to head back towards the door, pulling a set of car keys from his pocket. Was he leaving?

Marguerite chased after him. She had to know what he had seen in the parking lot. She caught up to him just outside the doors as he was pulling on his jacket.

"Paul!" she called.

He turned back to face her.

She stopped beside him and looked at him expectantly. "Well? What did you find out? Was the Scarlet Pimpernel there? Who did you see?"

Paul held up a hand. "One question at a time," he said coolly, "There's not much to tell really. I didn't see much."

Marguerite furrowed her brow. "What?"

"Yeah. Just a drunk kid, a couple making out, and Blakeney asleep in his car."

Marguerite frowned. "That's it?"

The corner of Paul's mouth tweaked slightly. "Yes."

Marguerite started searching for other possibilities. Surely they must have missed something. "Are you sure the drunk kid was actually a drunk? Could he possibly have been faking?"

"Believe me. He was really hammered. You could smell it a mile away and he could hardly stand, let alone walk. Plus I saw him puking on my way back in."

"Could he have been hiding?" Marguerite wondered.

"Not if he wanted to actually be _in_ the parking lot."

Marguerite's frown deepened. How could this be? She eyed Paul warily.

"I really must be going. A sudden matter of business that cannot be delayed. I must leave for France immediately."

Paul turned to go, but Marguerite stopped him. "Wait! So Andrew never came out then?"

Paul looked back at her and paused for a long moment before finally replying, "No."

With that he turned once more and marched into the parking lot.

Marguerite watched him go. His phone had been inside the entire time. He didn't even look at it when he came back in. How did he have a sudden matter of business to take care of? Unless... it had come from outside... in the _parking lot_.

Oh dear! Marguerite suddenly began to feel very anxious. He had implied that he had not discovered the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel which was believable because it was a long shot in the first place. However, one would think that he would be more upset about it. He seemed so cool and collected while talking to her.

Marguerite's head began to spin. But he was always cool and collected. That's what creeped her out about him. So maybe he was appearing that way, but was seething underneath.

Armand! Scarlet Pimpernel! Chauvelin! Parking lot! Text message! Armand! Armand! Armand!

There was a sudden buzzing noise. Marguerite could barely comprehend that it was her phone vibrating. She answered it. "Hello?"

"_Maggs? Hey, how's the dance?"_ came Armand's voice on the other end.

"Fine," Marguerite managed to choke out.

"_Great! Listen, Laura and I are staying the night here in town so I won't be able to pick you up. So here's the deal, there's only one person who lives out our way who I was able to get a hold of who has a car. So Blake's going to drive you home, OK?"_

Marguerite barely heard a word her brother said. Her mind was still wrapped up in recent events. "Uh-huh," she said.

"_Alright. I'll see you later then."_

Marguerite hung up. As soon as Paul found out who the Scarlet Pimpernel was, Armand was safe. How soon would that be? Had tonight helped at all?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Before Marguerite knew what was happening, she suddenly found herself in the passenger seat of Blake's silver sports car, cruising along the road. Wait, when had she agreed to this?

She then recalled the phone conversation she had had with Armand. Had she been more in tune at the time, she probably would have protested this arrangement, but now it was too late.

As she shifted positions slightly, she found that Blake's jacket was draped over her shoulders. She ran her fingers over it. Designer, of course. She expected no less. It complemented the rest of his outfit very well. Of course, she expected no less.

She finally turned her eyes to the driver's face. He was staring straight ahead at the road stiffly, both hands firmly grasped on the wheel. Marguerite just stared at his profile against the moonlight. He really did have striking features. She remembered the good times they had back in high school. He had changed so much since then... What would he think of her if he found out what she had just done?

All the panic and anxiety from before suddenly returned. The rest of the ride was in silence as Marguerite panicked internally and Blake ignored her. The car finally stopped in front of Marguerite's house and for the first time the entire ride, Blake looked at her. "We're here," he said simply.

Marguerite didn't move. She just sat frozen, staring ahead, mouth tight and eyes wide. After a moment, Blake addressed her again. "Marguerite, are you alright?"

It was at that moment that Marguerite broke down. She couldn't take it anymore. It was too much for her to handle. She couldn't keep it contained anymore. "No! I'm not alright!" she cried, "This has been too much! I've done a horrible thing! I have been all alone with it for weeks now! It's too much to bear! All the lies, the spying, the blackmail. It's terrifying!"

Blake didn't say anything, but just stared stone-faced at her as she continued.

"I am in deep trouble. And in an effort to fix it, I may have made it worse! My brother, Armand, is in league with the Scarlet Pimpernel. He has been found out by a member of the Republic, Paul Chauvelin, the French foreign exchange student. It's horrible! Paul approached me and blackmailed me into helping him find out more information on the Scarlet Pimpernel in exchange for Armand's life."

Tears began to run freely down her cheeks as she continued on. "I succeeded. I read a text from the Pimpernel to Andrew Foulkes that may have given him away to Paul."

Blake finally spoke. "Was the Scarlet Pimpernel found?"

Marguerite shook her head. "Paul said he wasn't, but I can't be sure. He was so... mysterious about it. He just left for France all of a sudden," She buried her face in her hands. "What do I do? I may have just sent a good man to his death! But it was all for Armand's sake! How could I let him die? I couldn't have that on my head!"

She continued to sob into her hands as Blake looked on. Marguerite peered through her fingers at him. He was just staring stiffly at her as she cried. Marguerite removed her face from her hands, but continued to cry. "Why do you look at me like that?" she asked, "What's happened to you? You used to practically worship the ground I walked on. You were one of the kindest souls I knew. I could really use some of that kindness right now."

"The question is, do you truly deserve such kindness or not?" Blake asked coldly, "I know you're upset, but is that any reason for sympathy?"

Marguerite's very last thread snapped. "How can you be so unfeeling?" she demanded, "_You_ are _another_ reason for my struggles over the past few weeks! I don't understand you at all! And I don't understand the way you make me feel whenever I'm around you either! It's almost like... how I used to feel around you. But why would that be? We've been apart for so long and you've changed so much."

Blake started slightly, but his face remained stony.

Marguerite's tears began coming out less violently and trickled down her cheeks. "Percy," she said his first name quietly, "Is it possible... for young teenage love to carry on for so many years?"

She was glad that his current outfit did not require his usual shades so that she could see his clear blue eyes glowing in the moonlight. She could see them soften only for the briefest of seconds, but then grow cold once more.

"Are you suggesting ours?" he inquired.

"Of course."

He sniffed indignantly. "I don't know. Perhaps you had better ask yourself that question. I had always thought to hang on to those I cared about for all times, but you might have a different principle."

Marguerite's tears began to falter slightly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that _you_ are the cold, unfeeling one here. Not me."

Marguerite huffed. "How can you say that? Here I am with two lives hanging over my head, being blackmailed and all you do is just sit there like a statue. I'm the unfeeling one, really?"

"_You_ left _me_! Never even called again! Just one little text saying, "moving. bye" and that was it!" Blake cried out.

Marguerite froze, completely taken aback by his outburst. He had gone back to staring ahead out the window bitterly.

"Do you have any idea what that did to me?" he asked quietly, "I was a broken person for the next couple years. You just left me with no explanation, but "moving. bye". I had to find out where you went from school gossip." He reached into his pocket and after searching through it for a moment, held out his phone to her. "I've held onto that text for all these years."

Marguerite slowly took it from his hand and looked at the screen. It was indeed a text sent from her five years ago that read simply "moving. bye". She remembered sending it. She had been unable to confront him face-to-face and thought that a text was the best way to go about it. However, looking at the stupid little text before her, she realized that she probably could have explained it better.

She handed the phone back to him. "I... I didn't mean to..." she began, "I'm sorry."

Blake didn't look at her, his mouth tight. "Five years. Five years, I never stopped loving you, no matter how hard I tried. It was just getting better recently, but then suddenly you came back into my life again. What could I do?"

Marguerite didn't know what to say. They both sat in silence for a few moments.

Finally, Blake turned to her. "I'll tell you what, I'll see what I can do to help Armand," he said, changing the subject.

Marguerite perked up slightly. "Really?" she asked eagerly.

"Well, he was my friend back in high school. I can't just abandon him if there's something I can do."

"Oh thank you, Perc- uh Blake!"

"You can call me Percy. Now will you get out of my car, please?"

Marguerite obeyed and climbed out of the car. As soon as she was out, Percy drove away down the road towards his home. Marguerite watched him go until he was out of sight and then turned to go back into the house. As she did, she realized that she still had his jacket draped around her shoulders. She pulled it closer around herself. She had never meant to hurt him, but she had never realized that his love was so deep.


	12. The Ring

Marguerite awoke the next morning and found herself sprawled across her bed on her stomach still fully dressed in her gown, shoes, make-up, etc. from the previous night. Apparently she had thrown herself across her bed as soon as she had gotten home and fallen straight to sleep.

She slowly sat up and stretched the kinks out of her neck and back. She then proceeded to change into a more casual outfit, undo her long curly hair as much as possible, and just clean herself up to the best of her ability.

Once fully refreshed, she headed into the kitchen to make herself some breakfast. As she walked past the front door, she noticed a jacket draped over the coat rack. Percy's jacket.

It all came swirling back to her. Their argument in the car. His confession of love. His promise to help. Marguerite sighed, removed the jacket from the rack, and took it with her into the kitchen. She set in on a chair and began to prepare her breakfast.

Percy had told her that he had never stopped loving her, that she had broken his heart. It was a lot to drink in. She remembered the text he had shown her as clearly as the day she had sent it. It had been so hard on her to leave him behind when she moved and she just didn't know how to cope with it. And her stupid 14-year-old self had thought the best way was to be simple and straight forward. Then when he never replied and never contacted her after that, she thought it had done its work.

She thought she was over him until she moved back and came across him again in college. Now...

Did she still love him? He had seemed to have changed so much, but sometimes it just seemed to be an act, a facade. Sometimes it seemed that deep down he was still the same kind-hearted, sweet, intelligent, devoted boy she once knew.

Frustrated, she shoved a spoonful of cereal into her mouth and began to chew violently, staring at the jacket. She began to mumble to herself with her mouth full. "He said he loves me. He's going to help me. I shouldn't confuse gratitude for love. He said he loves me. He loves me... He loves me. He loves me! I love him!"

Wait. She froze in the midst of her chewing, realizing what she had just said. "I love him," she repeated. She meant it. A smile slowly began to creep over her lips.

She had to go and see him. She picked up his jacket and ran to the garage. She fished a bike out from amongst a pile of boxes and other rubbish and pushed it out to the front. She climbed onto the seat and began to pedal.

Percy's house was on the outskirts of town, down Richmond Road. Actually, it was more like a mansion, with grounds and everything. Marguerite was fairly certain that he lived alone. She did know that he had inherited the place and his father's business after his parents had passed a few years ago. She remembered his family being ridiculously wealthy back before she moved, but she wasn't sure even back then what the family business was. It must have been something not too hard to handle since Percy was able to take care of it and not lose all his money.

Marguerite made it to the estate in under an hour. She drove up the extensive driveway and parked her bike by the front door. She took Percy's jacket and bravely marched up to the large wooden double doors that were the front door. Taking a deep breath, she lifted the silver knocker and pounded it against the wood.

After a moment, one of the doors opened. It was Mr. Jerkins, the butler. Marguerite recognized him from years before. He looked exactly the same, short, bald, large forehead, beady eyes. He raised his eyebrows at the sight of her. "May I help you?" he asked stiffly.

"I'm looking for Percy Blakeney," Marguerite said, "I have his jacket."

She held up the jacket for emphasis. Jerkins looked at the jacket for a moment then back at her. "I'm afraid that Mr. Blakeney is not here at the present moment. He has gone away to France."

"France?" Marguerite repeated, surprised, "Do you know when he'll be back?"

"Just a few days, I believe," Jerkins replied, "You can come back later or leave your information. I'm sure Mr. Blakeney will contact as soon as he-"

"Jerky, don't you remember me?" Marguerite asked, using the old nickname she had used back in middle school.

Jerkins's eyebrow went up in recognition of the name. He squinted his eyes at her for a moment. Then he smiled. "Oh, Marguerite St. Just! I haven't seen you in years," he declared, dropping his stuffy pretense, "My, you have grown so much. I didn't even recognize you."

"Well, you haven't changed a bit," Marguerite said with a smile, "How have you been?"

"Oh just fine. Can't complain." He chuckled a bit. "It's been so much less rowdy around here since you moved away and Master Percival has taken some responsibility around here. You two and your little adventures."

Marguerite laughed. "Oh yes. The maids really appreciated our adventurous treks. Especially when we brought back muddy footprints."

"You two were two peas in a pod," Jerkins said, nodding nostalgically, "Those were wonderful times."

Marguerite nodded in agreement, remembering the pillow fights, the walks in the rain, the late-night discussions around the fireplace, the cooking mishaps in the kitchen. They were wonderful times. She wished that she could see the house again and bring back some pleasanter memories than just of when she left.

"Anyways, what was it you wanted?" Jerkins asked.

"Well, I came by to give Percy back his jacket. He lent it to me last night," Marguerite said, holding up the jacket once more.

"Ah. Well as I said before, he's not here. But I can put it away for you if you'd like," Jerkins said, reaching for the jacket.

"Actually," Marguerite said, getting an idea, "I was wondering if maybe I could come in and just drop it off myself? I haven't been in here in years and I just thought that maybe I could relive some old memories."

Jerkins pursed his lips. "Well, I wouldn't normally do this for just anyone, but you're not just anyone. I would accompany you, but I have some urgent duties to attend to in the kitchen as soon as possible. You do remember where the master bedroom is, don't you? That's where Master Percival sleeps now. Just put the jacket somewhere in there, one of the maids will take care of it later."

"Thank you, Jerky," Marguerite said, smiling sweetly.

Jerkins opened the door to admit her. Marguerite entered and once Jerkins had shut and bolted the door, he hurried down one of the halls towards the kitchen.

The house was just as Marguerite remembered it. All the furniture was exactly where it had been 5 years earlier. She stood in the front hall for several moments, taking in the view before finally heading towards the large marble staircase. She did remember where the master bedroom was. She and Percy had explored the entire property on more than one occasion and discovered many different rooms.

She reached the top of the stairs and began walking down the extensive hallway. She knew what room was behind each door that she passed by heart. The guest room, the bathroom, the second guest room, the children's playroom (untouched), the exercise room, the game room, the third guest room, the master's study, Percy's old bedroom, the second bathroom, and at the very end was the master bedroom.

Marguerite walked into the master bedroom and carefully set the jacket on the bed. She sighed and stared at the bedspread and jacket for a minute, thinking about Percy. She finally turned and exited the room.

She began walking back down the hallway, stuffing her hands in her pockets. She looked at each of the doors as she passed them again. Until she reached the master's study. She remembered back in middle school that Percy's father had always kept it locked. Every time they tried to open it on one of their explorations, they had never managed to see inside the study. However, now Percy was the master. Maybe he didn't always lock it like his father did.

Childish curiosity overtook Marguerite and she crept towards the door. She rested her hand on the handle and gave it a turn. It opened. Marguerite felt a small thrill as the door slowly creaked open. She stepped inside, felt for a light switch, and the entire room filled with light.

Whatever Marguerite had been expecting, it was not what she saw. The room was bare except for a large desk in the center of the room with a large computer, lots of cords, antennas, smaller screens, a police scanner, keypads, and other tech equipment surrounding it. What on earth did Percy need all this equipment for?

Marguerite, out of morbid curiosity, moved towards the desk. Maybe it had something to do with the Blakeney family business. Something with computers and tracking devices and stuff.

She walked around to the other side of the desk so that she had a view of the computer screen. There was a blank screen except for a big red button that said "The Ring". Marguerite's hand hovered over the mouse, debating over whether or not she should click it. She bit her lip, hoping she wasn't going to set off any alarm or anything and clicked.

The button disappeared and a password box popped up. Marguerite thought for a moment, then typed in "Armani". It was denied. She tried "Gucci". Again it was denied. She was warned that she only had one more try. Marguerite pondered it for a long while. Then she got an idea. It might have been a long shot, but she was going to try it. She typed in "Marguerite". It was accepted and the password box disappeared.

Suddenly, all the screens were filled with mails, maps, newspaper headlines, lists of people's names. Marguerite frowned and began to scan over some of the information before her. Several of the emails were either to or from Andrew, Tony, Tim, and to her surprise, Armand. The lists seemed to be of random people, some of them crossed off, some of them underlined or in red. All the headlines were about the Republic. Why was Percy so interested in...?

Wait. But no. It was impossible. Just impossible! Marguerite looked at the bottom of one of the emails. To her horror, it said "from SP". She looked at another. It also said "from SP". She looked at another and another. They all said "from SP"! Percy was the the Scarlet Pimpernel!

Marguerite fell back onto the chair, holding her head in her hands. No, no, no! How could he? All this time? Everything began to fall into place. His facade as a brainless fashionista, his wariness with Paul, his avoidance of her. Marguerite's head was spinning. She had to talk to someone.

She quickly pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed up Armand. After several rings, it went to voicemail. Frustrated, she hung up. Maybe she could reach him by calling Laura. She dialed in the number.

Laura did answer the phone. "Hello?"

"Laura? Oh thank goodness! It's Marguerite."

"Marguerite? Oh, hey, my girl! How's it hangin'?"

"Fine, fine. Listen, I really need to speak with Armand, it's important!"

"Armand? He's not with me."

"What? He said you and him were going to stay the night in town after your date last night."

"Oh. Well, we went to dinner and all and we were planning on staying the night, but then he suddenly got this phone call and said he had to go home. Said that there was some emergency with you."

"Me?"

"Yeah. He didn't give me any details. Just dropped me off back home and left. You know, normally I would be pissed that a guy would just drop me like a hot potato when we had plans like that, but since it was for you..."

Marguerite didn't hear the rest of Laura's speech. Armand had lied to both her and Laura and didn't come home last night. Laura had said that he got a phone call and then suddenly had to leave. Now Percy was gone off to France. That must have been where Armand had gone as well, to help Percy with whatever mission he had planned over there.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Marguerite made it home in plenty of time. She had tried calling Armand several more times since her discovery in Percy's study, but to no avail. She entered the house, attempting to call Armand yet again. She suddenly heard ringing emanating from upstairs. She broke into a sprint, following the noise, and it lead her into Armand's bedroom.

His phone was under the unkept bed sheets on his bed, clearly forgotten in a hurry. He must have come home to gather some things for wherever he had gone and left his phone behind. Marguerite checked his bedside drawer. His passport was missing. She was now almost certain that he had gone to France.

There was a ring at the door. Marguerite hurried downstairs and opened the door. It was the deliveryman. He held out a small package to Marguerite.

"Package for a Marguerite St. Just," he said.

Marguerite took it. The deliveryman nodded and headed back to his truck.

Marguerite looked at the box. It was plainly addressed to her, but there was no return address. It had been sent express. She quickly grabbed some scissors and opened the box. Inside was merely a folded up piece of paper. She removed the paper and unfolded it. What she saw made her heart stop.

It was Armand's email.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Armani and Gucci are two very expensive designer mens brands, just FYI._


	13. Recruiting Foulkes

_Hey guys. I am so, so, SO sorry I took so long for this update. I got this new job that lasted for a month and it took up a lot of my time... then I went on a cruise, then I was in a sleep clinic. Anyways, I'm back for now. I may be getting another job soon, but we'll see what that brings._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Marguerite had never pedaled on her bike so hard in her life. She did not even feel the burning pain of any of the hills or anything. All she was thinking about was Armand and Percy in France with Paul hot on their scent. She had to stop it. She had to fix the problem she had caused. There was only one way she could think of.

She turned the corner and rode into the parking lot of a large apartment complex. She glanced at the address she had written on her hand that she had taken from Percy's computer. Apartment 22.

She jumped off her bike, not bothering to tether it up, and ran up a flight of stairs. She hurried down the hallway until she came to the purple door with a large gold 22 on it. Not hesitating for a moment, she pounded her fist against it urgently.

After one agonizing moment, Marguerite thought no one was home, but then suddenly, the door opened. Andrew Foulkes stood in the doorway, dressed in sweats and holding a cup of coffee. He looked like he had just woken up. When he saw Marguerite, his face lit up with surprise briefly then his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Marguerite! ...What are you doing here?" he asked hesitantly.

"Andrew! Oh, Andrew, Andrew! It's terrible. Terrible," Marguerite said.

Andrew only managed to look more confused. "What is?"

"It's about the Scarlet Pimpernel. It's about Percy! I know he's gone to France! But he's in danger! And it's all my fault!" Marguerite cried.

At the mention of the Scarlet Pimpernel, Andrew suddenly tensed up and pursed his lips. He grabbed Marguerite by the shoulder, pulled her inside, then shut the door. After locking it, he turned back to her, "You know about the Scarlet Pimpernel?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"That's not important. What is important is that he's gone to France and that one of his worst enemies knows it too and is right behind him!"

Andrew raised an eyebrow. "Chauvelin?"

"Yes!"

"How did he find out?"

Marguerite collapsed onto a chair and covered her face with her hands. "It was me!" she cried, "I told him! I read your texts that night I used your phone at the Grenville dance. I saw the one from the Scarlet Pimpernel that said he was going to be in the parking lot at 1:00 and told Chauvelin!"

She groaned into her palms. "I had no idea it was Percy! You have to understand, it was either the Scarlet Pimpernel or my brother. To me it was just find out a little information about a man I had supposedly never met before or send my brother to his death."

She groaned again. "Now they're both in danger! What have I done? I need to get to France and save them! Warn them!"

Andrew, who had been listening with shocked patience to her little rant, now took the opportunity to speak. "Wait, wait. I don't think you going to France would be the best option."

"Well, I can't just sit here and watch them both get captured and/or die because of me!"

"Yeah, but once Percy goes off on one of his rescuing escapades, he can't be deterred. It's impossible to talk him out of it," Andrew replied. He sighed and sat next to Marguerite. "Look, your brother went to France last night to track down a runaway victim of the Republic. Not just any victim. He's not just a little outspoken or something. He's actually an ex-member. It's Armand's job to find this man and get him to a safe haven until he can be picked up and transported. Bla- Percy is overseeing this personally. He's flying over in his personal jet at this very moment."

"Personal jet?" Marguerite repeated.

"Oh yeah. Percy bought it a few years back once his work started taking us over seas more often than not," Andrew said, "Anyways, only Armand and Percy are to be in France. The rest of us have our orders to remain where we are."

"Couldn't they use a few more people?" Marguerite protested.

"Look, we just don't want to attract any extra attention."

"But they are in danger!"

"I trust Percy's judgement."

"Not if he's ignorant to some happenings!"

Andrew's bit his lip, frowning.

Marguerite narrowed her eyes. "Are you really going to let some silly orders get in the way of several men's lives? Come on, trust your own judgement!"

There was silence between them. Marguerite kept her eyes fixated on Andrew while he ran a hand through his thick blonde hair. Finally he looked up at her. "OK, fine," he said, "I will warn Percy. But there is no way that you are coming with me."

Marguerite scowled at him. "Listen here, Foulkes. I have endangered two of the most important people in my life and I refuse to just sit at home wondering while you go galavanting off without me. It's my fault and I will do everything I can to help, do you understand me?"

Andrew drew back slightly at her tone. He opened his mouth to respond, but Marguerite cut him off. "Don't speak unless you are going to say something I want to hear. You are not going to France or anywhere else without me. Are you hearing me?"

"Yes. Yes, alright. You can come!" Andrew said.

"And don't you dare say- Wait, what?"

"I said you can come. I don't think it's a good idea, but if you really insist on it."

Marguerite relaxed slightly. "Oh. I didn't think you'd give in so easily."

"Yeah, well..." Andrew shrugged. He stood up. "First things first. We need to catch the earliest flight to France."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Marguerite clutched her small bag anxiously, waiting as Andrew spoke to the woman behind the ticket counter at the airport. They didn't have much time to pack and had to drive almost 3 hours to the airport. After several long moments, Andrew finally turned back to her dejectedly. Marguerite's stomach dropped at the sight of it.

"What is it?" she asked, dreading the answer.

"There are no available flights until tomorrow and haven't been since yesterday morning," Andrew replied, "They're completely sold out."

"What?" Marguerite cried, "But, we need to get to France now! Is there another airport?"

"Not for another 12 hours," Andrew said, "It would be better to just wait out the night here."

Marguerite put her hands to her cheeks in a panic. "But, but Paul-"

"Will still be here too," Andrew said, "Remember, I said all the flights have been booked since yesterday morning? If what you said is true, he didn't find out about... well, you know... until last night. He wouldn't have managed to get a flight out either. Now unless he has a private jet stashed away somewhere, he probably is stuck here just the same as us."

After hearing this information, Marguerite relaxed slightly. Even if he decided to travel the 12 hours to the next nearest airport, he still would not be very far ahead of them.

"Don't worry," Andrew said, "I bought tickets for a 6:30 flight tomorrow morning. Now come on, let's go find a hotel."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Remember, more reviews equals faster updates ;)_


End file.
